


A Flower in the Flame

by Shibin



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Gen, Storytelling, alternate viewpoint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 09:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 89,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shibin/pseuds/Shibin
Summary: The Reader is lying down in the Sandfolds after an unpleasant trip down the Sclorian river when a group that refers themselves as the Chastity stops and rescues her. Now, as their designated Reader, she is supposed to carry them through the Rites for a chance at liberation from the Downside. Will she be able to do that in a triumvirate composed by former members of the Commonwealth upper class, who think that the only way of winning is by bending the rules and bribing their opponents?





	1. The Reader Arrived

**Author's Note:**

> This fic sprang out of a desire to have two readers interact. We figured it would be weird for the Nightwings to have two readers at once, so we went about designing a reader for the Chastity so the two readers could exist at once without causing a time paradox. During the creation of that reader we got inspired enough to start characterising the faceless members of the Chastity, then we started imagining what the story of Pyre looked like from the point of view of another triumvirate. Ultimately we ended up making characters out of the faceless rite conductors in the Chastity and we're now well on our way to writing something which covers most of the events of Pyre.
> 
> There will be appearances of most of the major characters which the Chastity could reasonably have encountered so there are some spoilers simply by virtue of learning "this character exists".
> 
> We also publish this to our tumblr, along with other Pyre-related arts and stuff at https://pyrereader.tumblr.com/

On a barren waste, far to the western edge of the Downside prairie, a lonesome figure lays on the ground. Her long hair is slick against her face, her extravagant clothes are stained with mud and other unspeakable detritus from her unpleasant trip down the Sclorian river, despite the tattered cloak draped over them. Upon the back of said cloak shines a single discernible pattern, that of the five pointed star marking her as a reader, a person possessing the single skill which makes one deserving of immediate exile in the eyes of the Commonwealth. 

  
  


The silence of the wastes is soon broken by a rattling and squeaking. The young woman barely manages to lift her head to see a blackwagon rolling up next to her. Well, calling it a blackwagon might be a bit generous. It is more akin to a tent on wheels. As a whole it is a bit worn and torn, though the pinks and yellows of the fabrics are still vibrant enough, despite being covered in dust.

Just a moment later, the door to the wagon creaks open and her ears are graced by a haughty voice, calling back into the wagon.

“My, my, it appears our informant was quite correct. See, Peyford? When my family makes a promise, they deliver.” 

The woman on the ground manages to turn her head to look at the speaker, a tall masked creature, clad in raiments in the same colour of the wagon. The back of her mind notes the creaking as it moves and the spindly build, a sap most likely. They continue speaking.

“Now, now, you two, get out here. I’m going to need a hand carrying them inside. You can hardly expect me to do the heavy lifting now, can you?”

There’s a brief rustling inside the wagon before the sap is joined by two other masked figures. One is clearly a nomad, his back held straight and his chin slightly lifted. The other figure is unmistakably that of a harp, the raiments doing nothing to obscure her wings as she steps up behind the sap and hisses.

“Wonderful, a half dead piece of Commonwealth trash.”

She takes a step forward, a talon slipping out of the bottom of her raiments and moving towards the woman on the ground before the sap extends an arm, halting her mid-step.

“Ohoo, calm down there Xaxiana. You should consider how replaceable you are in comparison to this girl before doing anything rash~”

There’s a tense moment between the two of them before the nomad awkwardly coughs, breaking the silence.

“Are you even sure it’s a girl?… Oh whatever, she looks like a complete wreck anyways.”

He waves his hand in a dismissive manner before turning away from his two companions.

“I think you two can handle yourselves so I’ll be back in the wagon. My robes are getting ruined enough just by standing in this sand.”

The nomad walks off, soon followed by the harp, leaving only the sap who turns his attention to the woman on the ground. So far she’s been struggling to make any sense out of the conversation going on in front of her. She watches as the tall figure fumbles with the clasps of his mask for a moment, grumbling in frustration until he’s finally got it held in his spindly fingers, leaning down to a more comfortable speaking distance for the prone girl.  


“Pardon me for the delayed introduction my lady. H. Manley Tinderstauf, at your service. I believe we will have a most profitable relationship from now on.”

Even in her weak and bleary state, the Reader can’t help but feel like the smile he is giving her is one of the least sincere smiles she’s ever seen.


	2. Prejudices About the Prideful

It had been less than two days since the Reader had been picked up by the odd group calling themselves the Chastity. The wagon was already on the move to a place that they referred to as Hollowroot while her head was swimming with impressions, thoughts, and musings on her odd situation. First off, and certainly the oddest, her ability as a reader was suddenly something which was valued. The very skill which had gotten her exiled from the Commonwealth had now seemingly earned her a spot in the very tradition which might take her right back home. This leads her mind to the second thing of interest, the Rites. Supposedly a tradition of mystical competition that was responsible for filling most every high seat of office in the Commonwealth government. Suddenly, the hushed rumours that the most powerful people in the lands were former exiles did not seem quite so absurd any more.

Speaking of exiles… the Reader’s eyes drifted around the wagon to observe her new company, regarding them each in turn as she ponders her first impressions of each of them.

First off, there was Peyford. His entire appearance, demeanour, and stature spoke of someone who came from the upper layers of the Commonwealth aristocracy. While they hadn’t exchanged many words aside from a brief introduction, the Reader felt that he might be the most sensible and level-headed out of the three. For some reason she also couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a bit suspicious about her, though she couldn’t yet tell why. As she kept observing him, he looked up as well, meeting her gaze.

Their eye-contact was abruptly cut short by a more imminent sense of danger, heralded by a frustrated shriek and a box being kicked across the wagon’s cramped interior, passing right between the two of them.

“Blasted mess! I ought to gut every one of you lazy clods!”

The commotion in question originated from the second inhabitant of the wagon, a furious harp who was at that moment spitting metaphorical fire after having tripped on the box which was now lodged firmly in between some shelves on the opposite wall. Xaxiana was the person in the wagon who was clearly the most prone to loud outbursts of emotions and opinions. Yet, paradoxically enough, it seemed impossible for the Reader to get a sense of what the harp was actually feeling. She’d always believed that she had a very strong sense of intuition when it came to people’s thoughts, yet Xaxiana’s feelings appeared completely locked off from her. It was… a little unsettling to be fair, and wasn’t helping her impression of the clearly unstable former Highwing. The Reader took a mental note about tidying up the wagon to perhaps minimize future violent outbursts.

“Now, now, this noise must be highly unpleasant to our newest member, Xaxiana dear. Do try to contain yourself hmm?”

And then of course, there was him. The haughty sap who seemingly thought his personal introduction was more important than immediately helping a dehydrated woman on the brink of death. If Peyford gave off a strong sense of being a noble, then H. Manley Tinderstauf positively reeked of the corruption and grandstanding which the Reader had become all too familiar with during her lifetime in the Commonwealth. Thinking more about it… it’s not just his arrogant demeanor that’s familiar. The name Tinderstauf… it actually rings a bit of a bell.

“Excuse me, sir Tinderstauf?”

The Reader tenderly raises her voice, attempting to catch the sap’s attention. Luckily, he is close enough to hear her, and he turns his head towards her with an attentive look.

“Yes, my lady? How can I help you?”

It takes a moment for the Reader to gather her thoughts, formulating her question in a way so that it wouldn’t offend.

“It’s just… I had been thinking, ever since you introduced yourself there’s been this thought on my mind, and I was hoping you could help me settle it. I recall hearing the name Tinderstauf in the Commonwealth. See, there was this old rumour of an ambassador who got exiled some decades ago and I was wondering if perchance you knew of him or…?”

Her question is interrupted as the wagon suddenly shudders to a halt. The Reader then notices a tense silence filling the air and starts fearing that it might not be appropriate among exiles to inquire about ones past in the Commonwealth. She hears some rustling and turns her head to see Peyford and Xaxiana hurriedly leaving the wagon. The next moment she looks back at Manley who is staring at her with this expression as if she just paid him the greatest compliment possible.

“Ooooh, so my reputation still lingers in the Commonwealth after so many years. Oh but my dear lady, I absolutely have to tell you the entire story, as I am sure someone of your cultured nature will appreciate such a tale of intrigue and-”

Two hours later, the Reader wonders if perhaps engaging Manley about his past was a mistake, as the sap’s monologue has yet to show any sign of stopping.


	3. Reading Expectations

What should one think after experiencing a person orate about their past for the better part of two hours? Perhaps one might reconsider ever striking up conversation with that person again, or at least make a note to interrupt them if they ever seem to be about to start monologuing. The Reader of the Chastity was doing neither of these things as she stepped out of the blackwagon parked outside of the small exile settlement known as Hollowroot. Instead, she was busy reflecting on the conversation she had just been part of. Well, calling it a conversation is probably a misnomer, as it was definitely one-sided, but still. She had been surprised by how excited Tinderstauf had been by the idea that someone from the Commonwealth was familiar with him, so excited in fact that she had not had the heart to elaborate on his reputation as a charlatan and a disgrace to his family. The Reader was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost walked right into the pair of Xaxiana and Peyford who had been idling outside the wagon while waiting for her and Manley to finish their talk.

“Good to see you’re still with us.” Peyford comments. “It would have been a shame if he’d bored you to death so soon after picking you up. Real waste of effort.”

The Reader notes that his tone seems to be that of making a joke, and it’s shortly followed by a short cackle from Xaxiana. If the laugh was provoked by the jab at Manley or by the suggestion that the Reader might have died, she could not tell. The Reader was about to object that she actually appreciated the insight about one of her companions’ past, but before she could get the words out she was interrupted by Manley’s voice from behind her.

“Oh how lovely that we’re all in such a good mood today.” He puts his hand around the Reader’s shoulder, leading her along into Hollowroot as he continues speaking. “Now my dear Reader, I had word sent ahead that we would be receiving a new member and had them procure some rather expensive goods for us. Money is no issue, you see, and you deserve something far greater than this… ragged thing.” He briefly sneers at the worn cloak she is wearing, generously provided by the Commonwealth during her sentencing ceremony.

The rest of the day passes in a sort of blur as the Reader is whisked around the exile settlement by Manley and his crew. One moment they are picking up an ornately wrapped package from an odd slug-like creature, the next they are having a new cloak tailored and getting her ordinary clothes patched up by a kindly old cur who appears slightly taken aback by the luxurious material Manley brought for her to work with. Later in the day the Reader finds herself in the custody of a surly bog crone who cleans up her hair with various odd but pleasant-smelling concoctions, all the while muttering under her breath about vanity among exiles. Not once during these proceedings does Manley stop talking. When they are in a shop, he goes on about his wealth and how money is no object to him. When they are passing between locations he keeps lavishing the Reader with praise about how important of an addition she is going to be to the team.

While she can tolerate the sap’s constantly running mouth, the subjects of discussion are starting to worry her on some level. Most worrying is the apparent value that the sap is placing on her skills. She hasn’t read for years now, she cannot even be sure that she’d recognize the language if she was suddenly handed a book and told to read it. Yet now she was apparently expected to carry this group of people to victory in a ritual competition she had never heard about before.

These things are at the forefront of her mind when the group moves to once again leave Hollowroot. Manley’s mouth still shows no sign of ceasing its endless blathering, so she decides to try and interrupt him.

“Excuse me…” She starts.

“Imagine what the other triumvirates will say once they realize that the Chastity now has a dedicated reader-”

“I just wanted to…” Another try.

“After all, the Chastity deserves nothing less than the very best-”

“Could you please-” she can feel her patience starting to run thin here…

“Because this! This is a new era for this triumvirate! Mark my words, you will all be rewarded when we-”

“WOULD YOU KINDLY SHUT YOUR MOUTH FOR A MINUTE!? Please?!” And she finally snaps, her brief outburst sending the entire group into a stunned silence just outside of their blackwagon. She then lets out a sudden gasp, inwardly shocked at her own outburst as well. Peyford has an eyebrow raised, Xaxiana seems to be grinning to herself, and Manley is in a mild shock at having been so rudely interrupted, his darkening expression clearly signaling that he is about to lash back at the Reader, but before that happens she asserts herself.

“Ahem! Now…” She crosses her arms and starts explaining her concerns. “So while I’m greatly appreciative of the gifts, the compliments, and the trust you are placing in me, I feel there is a detail you are all overlooking”. She looks back at them, making sure that she has their attention before continuing. “You should all know that, while it is true that I have been marked as a reader, and exiled for that reason, I have not read or seen a book in ten years or so.”

She keeps going over her uncertain reading ability, how she might not match their extraordinary expectations, and most importantly:

“Not one of you have seen fit to even vaguely describe these…Rites to me, or what I will actually be doing during them. You have not even told me what kind of material I will be reading. It might be completely possible that I won’t be able to understand the language it is written in.”

She lets out a long breath, her worry slowly setting in as she realizes how she must just have sounded. These people, despite their origins, have saved her life and been nothing but polite and kind to her. This is especially true about Manley, who is now leaning against the blackwagon with a worried expression as if he just considered the possibility that the Reader might be useless despite all his efforts. She considers approaching him to apologize for her behaviour when Peyford steps forward, while an entertained smile plays across his lips.

“Perhaps it is time we gave you some answers, though you have been pretty reticent to ask them before now, you have to admit.” He pauses to let the Reader feel a bit sheepish about this fact before continuing. “But fair is fair, let us go into the blackwagon and prepare for a demonstration. I believe it is time that you get to see…”

There’s a brief pause for dramatic effect-

“The Book of Rites.”

Behind all of them, Xaxiana rolls her eyes.


	4. A Book and a Bright Future

Well, now they were getting somewhere. As Peyford steps inside the blackwagon with the Reader close behind, she has to wonder if he is usually the one to explain things among the Chastity. It may be a stereotype, but she sort of expected him to be an intellectual once she saw he wore glasses. After all, they are an accessory usually reserved for those who are both well off and concerned with minute details in things.

“Now I must admit, I do not know much about the book.” Peyford comments over his shoulder while digging through a footlocker. “As you may expect, it carries very little meaning to one who cannot read, other than containing some interesting illustrations of Downside landmarks and depictions of the Scribes.”

He coughs and pulls out an ornate tome, bound in a white material and decorated with a large Scribe-star inscribed in a glass orb.

“As a layman, all I can say is it possesses some distinctly mystical properties. It allows a rite conductor to project their aura during the rites, as well as allowing the casting of said aura and letting the exile return from a state of banishment…”

He looks up at the Reader, finding himself met with a perplexed gaze. She knows what all the words he just said mean, but the context in which he used them makes little sense to her. Clearly, he noticed her confusion.

“Hm. Perhaps a demonstration would be more enlighten-”

“Oh-hoh, yes, let us have a mock Rite for our wonderful new reader! Just after she decided to spit in my face!” Manley scoffs, cutting Peyford off mid-sentence. “A reward for her exemplary behaviour and gratitude towards the leader of the Chastity, mhm?” The sap’s usual smiling countenance is gone, having given way to a sour glare in the Reader’s direction. It dawns on the Reader how sensitive he is to being interrupted, or perhaps it’s having his authority questioned that is setting him off. She makes a note to try and patch things up between them after the demonstration.

“Manley, please.” Peyford puts the book down in front of the Reader and turns to the sap. “I simply think that, as the Reader expressed concerns about her own ability to read, we should allow her a chance to perform her task before…”

As the two of them continue arguing for a moment, the Reader picks up the book which is now within her reach. It is unlike anything she has handled before. The white binding appears to be some sort of extraordinary type of hide, not from any animal she has ever studied in the Commonwealth. As Peyford manages to convince his companions to get dressed in their raiments, she opens it up to the first page where her wonder only grows. One page is adorned with an intricately drawn diagram of stars, mimicking the shape of the Scribe-star adorning the book and accompanied by a rendition of a nomad clad in the raiments of the Rites.

Eventually, her eyes drift to the text on the other page. At first the symbols swim before her eyes, unrecognizable, unfamiliar. There is a moment of doubt. Did she forget how to read? It had been years… maybe a decade, since she last picked up a book. Could one forget such a skill in that time? But then, slowly, piece by piece, meaning starts to congeal among the swirling sea of symbols. Words appear in her mind, brought forth by the collections of letters and spaces, allowing the silent page to speak to her. She starts reading, working her way through the golden letters inscribed on the jet-black page, reaching the bottom within a few minutes of starting.

“Oblige the voice that… tells you more?…”

She looks up at the triumvirate in front of her. They have just finished putting on their raiments as the world starts spinning before her eyes. Before anyone can react, the Reader’s view goes black, and she passes out on top of the book.

…

“Reader!”

She snaps back to consciousness as a booming voice assaults her mind.

“ …Oh but what a surprise, it seems the Chastity has finally decided to take this glorious tradition seriously again.”

As the Reader’s vision clears, the most unusual sight reveals itself to her. Before her stretches a vast emptiness. Below are the pages of the book she was just reading, a great field of blank black pages. On one end of the book is a crest depicting a flower in the colors of the Chastity. On the other end is a colorless crest in the shape of a crossed-through star, she notes that it appears similar to the mark placed upon convicted readers. Above is an imposing figure, half obscured by the grand Scribe-star which previously adorned the book of Rites. His black hands point to the star diagram, his body is covered in a golden robe, and his face is hidden behind a mask with a colorful five-pointed star adorning the top of his head. Her mind jerks in shock as recognition hits her. To a commoner, he could have been any of the anonymous officials in the Commonwealth. To anyone of slightly greater education, the apparition was clearly in the form of…

“The Archjustice…” She whispers to herself in disbelief.

She does not get much time to wonder however, as the voice continues with his speech.

“Reader! Before you lays the path out of the Downside. A way to be absolved of your misdeeds and returned unto your home in glory. ‘Tis true what the book says… Indeed, the worthy may be allowed to end their punishment and regain their freedom!” His tone becomes subtly derisive as he continues. “Perhaps that speaks to the worth of your current acquaintances… still here to bring one such as you into their midst. Such speculation however, is best left for another time…”

The Reader is starting to wonder what is it with people and their pauses for dramatic effect as of late.

“Now witness… the Rites!”

And as the Reader once more looks down at the book below, she notices several figures pop into existence before her. On one end of the book, a sap, a harp and a nomad appear, her companions in the Chastity, judging by their raiments. On the other side, a nomad and a cur appear, along with an imposing demon-like figure. She is taken aback by the appearance of the latter. Despite what she heard during her sentencing, she had not expected the Downside to be home to literal demons. At that point she suddenly hears the voices of her triumvirate ringing out in her head.

“Oh- what is all this now? Will today’s unpleasant surprises never cease?”

First is Manley who is, of course, complaining about the situation. Still, despite his complaints, he is holding his copy of the book of Rites at the ready. Somehow none of the figures down on the book flinch as the sigils behind them suddenly burst into flame, bathing their surroundings with otherworldly light. The next moment, Peyford reaches out to the Reader, addressing her directly.

“It appears our demonstration will be a lot more hands-on than I had expected. I trust you are out there somewhere, Reader. This will be a new experience for all of us I feel.”

The only member she does not hear anything from is Xaxiana. The harp appears even more guarded than usual, slowly hovering in place and not letting out a word. The fact that the harp is still impossible to figure out, even in this unusual situation makes the Reader wonder if she isn’t deliberately pushing her away.

She cannot tell exactly how long a time they spend inside this strange void… inside the book. The voice of the Archjustice continues to dictate how the Rites should be performed to her, and the Reader somehow manages to give guidance to her triumvirate by using her thoughts alone. Peyford appears to most easily take to the situation, heeding the Reader’s words and acting accordingly. Manley is about as reluctant to cooperate as the Reader might expect him to be. He rather often takes his own initiative and disregards her advice, at some points deliberately doing the exact opposite thing to what she wants. And finally, she’s not even sure if Xaxiana can hear her or not. The Reader tries to influence and guide the harp from time to time but she cannot tell if her advice is coming through or if the harp just happened to have the same sort of idea as her at the same time.

As for the Rite itself, the rules appear rather simple and she picks them up easily. Grab the orb and carry it into the adversaries’ pyre, avoid the opposing team’s auras, and only one member among each triumvirate can move at a time. It gets even easier to pick up thanks to the fact that her companions appear to have experience with the Rites. Eventually, they have snuffed the opposing triumvirate’s pyre and the Rite ends.

“An admirable performance, I suppose.” The voice comments as the Reader’s view drifts skywards. “Perhaps the Chastity can be brought back unto the proper path once more under the guidance of a reader…May they claim the great rewards which they so desperately crave…” Then the derision enters his voice again. “Though those such as them…They never listen.”

The Reader mentally furrows her brow at the comment before she is hit by another spell of dizziness and her vision fades once more.


	5. Thorns and Stars

When the Reader regains consciousness, her first sensation is the sound of rustling raiments and a series of frustrated grunts. She opens her eyes just in time to see Xaxiana’s mask clatter to the ground as the harp lumbers past her, mutters something that vaguely resembles the word “sleep” and slams the door to the wagon’s living quarters behind her. It does not take superior empathic skills to realize that the harp is upset by the implications of their experience in the book. Another moody companion to manage…

Speaking of moody companions, she next notices Manley taking off his mask and striding outside. She cannot see his face but he does not appear much happier than he was before the Rite. Before she can stand up to follow him, the Reader feels a hand on her shoulder. As she looks back she sees Peyford standing over her, wearing his usual neutral expression.

“Are you feeling alright?” He inquires, and his concern seems genuine. “Quite a surprise, that. The three of us saw you pass out and suddenly we were inside the book, so to speak…” He coughs, seemingly aware of how absurd his previous sentence may have sounded. Before he can continue, the Reader cuts him off with a hand gesture.

“It was… really something.”

She sighs, rubbing her forehead. There were so many things to think about this day, and she is not sure if a conversation partner is quite what she is looking for to sort her thoughts out right now.

“I’m sorry, I need to get some air.”

A few moments later she is standing outside of the wagon, hands softly clasped together and her eyes pointed at the twilight sky. Finally, she has some time to process the stimulus of the day. The trip through Hollowroot had been curiously enlightening. She had not expected there to be a settlement of that sort in the Downside, or for there to be a functioning economy for Manley to flaunt his wealth through. She supposes it is thanks to the traffickers smuggling goods down the river.

Hollowroot though… She furrows her brow and reaches up to twist one of her recently styled strands of hair. She looked almost doll-like now. If there was anything hinting at how Manley thought of her, his desire to make her look pretty certainly spoke volumes. Perhaps that feeling is what lead her to snap at him earlier today, the sense that he simply saw her as a possession and not a person. The Reader groans inwardly from embarrassment as she recalls the episode. She really thought she was better than to openly shout at people just because they bothered her.

She shakes her head and quickly moves on to her next thought. The Rites… Actually, she might need some more time to digest that. There were a lot of things which happened in a very short time. From the book being unequivocably magical, to the rules she had learned, to the unexpected observer that had joined them. Her mind lingers a bit longer at the thought of the Archjustice. She can’t be sure if the Commonwealth’s leader had truly been speaking to her, or if the entire episode had been an elaborate hallucination brought on by her recent exile and exhaustion. Clearly they had all experienced the same vision of the book, going by Peyford’s comment. But at the same time, no one had yet mentioned having any form of contact with the Archjustice. She sort of assumes that that would be something they would have mentioned, especially Manley… Perhaps she should keep that on the down-low for now, before they start to question her mental faculties.

With a heavy sigh she finally lowers her gaze from the slowly darkening sky and looks around. She is startled when she notices that Manley is standing within earshot of her behind the wagon, seemingly also watching the sky. She realizes she had been pacing a little while engrossed within her thoughts, and she thanks the Scribes that she does not make a habit of talking out loud to herself. Still, this is an opportunity to patch things up between them. Better to get it over with before the day ends and things get made even more awkward by delaying. She takes a breath and smooths out her robe before approaching the sap.

“Excuse me… Sir Tinderstauf?” She begins softly as she comes up next to him. “I hope I’m not interrupting something, but I wanted to apologize for my behaviour earlier today.” She pauses briefly to gauge how repentant she wants to come across as. “It really was highly improper for a lady of my status to make such a scene… I hope we can move beyond that embarrassing episode and construct a healthier relationship.”

“Oh-hoh, truly my dear Reader, it is no matter, no matter at all.” Manley responds after the appropriate moment of consideration. “In fact, I am hardly upset at all, honestly, I hold no ill will towards you, my dear lady.”

The Reader can tell that the sap is far from being sincere. Though she does not need to call him on it, as he simply continues.

“Of course, I am delighted to hear that you can see the value in considering your tone in the future. After all, it would be a real shame if our relationship were to sour, would it not?” The sap shoots her a disingenuous smile before continuing. “Why, your life, and the life of any acquaintances you have in the Commonwealth could become so much harder if my friends up there believed there was a problem.”

The Reader is slightly taken aback by this suggestion. Not by the veiled threat itself, the fact that Manley thought she had acquaintances in the Commonwealth only serves to highlight how empty his threat is. No, she is more shocked at the fact that he is trying to threaten her at all. That is what she gets for trying to patch things up between them? Well, she is not having it. Manley may have had a lot of sway if she had been an uneducated commoner, or if they were still in the Commonwealth, where his friends could affect her. But neither of these were true, and she knows that showing weakness to someone of his kind is a great mistake.

“Sir- Mister Tinderstauf.” She draws up to her full height as she adopts a stern tone for her reply. She still barely reaches his neck. Saps have an advantage like that. “What would be an even greater shame, would be if you made a fool of yourself by threatening someone with no way in which to follow up on such a threat. You barely know who I am, and such attempts at manipulation would end up in disappointment.”

After that rebuttal, she continues. “That is to say, if you would like for our relationship to be favourable for the both of us, perhaps you should consider your choice of words as well.”

  
  


She finishes her short tirade with a huff. After that, they are left staring at each other, the Reader with a defiant glare, Manley with a condescending look, displaying his disgust at the exchange. They stand there until the last rays of sunlight disappear, at which point Manley finally responds.

“Fine then. We will see where this rudeness gets you.”

At this, the Reader turns on her heel and stomps back towards the wagon, muttering angrily under her breath. “Rudeness?! Who does he think he is? Here I come of my own will to apologize and he throws that back in my… rrgh…” As she turns the corner of the blackwagon she’s startled for the second time in the evening as she walks straight into Peyford, bouncing back with a surprised gasp.

“I see the two of you are getting along swimmingly.”

The Reader is about to balk at him before realizing that despite his perfectly inscrutable face, Peyford was telling a joke. She sighs. “I’m usually far more patient than I’ve been today… I just seem to lose my temper with him.”

“You’re not the only one, sadly. He’s hard to put up with. Frankly, neither Xaxiana nor I try to make any extra efforts to talk to him like you do. We just stay out of his way and ignore him as we wait for liberation.” A hint of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “I was considering leaving the triumvirate if things didn’t turn around soon. After having that experience in the book, it seems like we may have a chance now.”

The Reader raises her eyebrows, realizing that she has been genuinely complimented for the first time during her stay within the Chastity. While she processes that, Peyford takes off his glasses, polishing them with a cloth. “You’ve obviously realized that I have issues with my sight. In fact, I have a hard time seeing across a Rite’s field without these on and…” he chuckles, “… of course they don’t fit under my mask. This means your guidance is a great boon to me, so thank you for offering me an opportunity to truly perform to the highest of my capabilites, Reader.”

The Reader smiles, finally relaxing a bit after her unpleasant interaction with Manley. “Thank you Peyford. It means a fair bit to know someone here thinks I might have some value in the Rites.”

Peyford nods and looks up at the sky, gesturing for her to do the same. “Now, there is one more thing that the Reader does for their triumvirate which we should not delay. You have seen the first page in the book and the diagram therein. Perhaps you could indulge me and see if you can find the location of our next Rite?”

The Reader focuses and does as instructed, turning her gaze to the star-filled sky. She’s surprised to find that it is rather easy to find what she is looking for. The stars have converged in a distinct formation, such that it becomes clear to her that they will all gather above a location, indicated by the brightest star which at the moment would be… Gol, the South Star. Suddenly a location flashes before her eyes, a great ridge, adorned with horns. Clearly it is an indication as to the bizarre nature of the Downside’s landscape. She relays this information to Peyford, and he appears surprised at the details she gathered, even giving an exact date for when they should be there.

“The Ridge of Gol…” He comments thoughtfully. “That was a very skillful reading. Do you have previous experience surveying the stars?”

The Reader responds with a proud smile. “Well, my father was a scholar of some renown in the Commonwealth.” A job which is rather hard in a non-literate society. “He taught me a fair bit of what he knew, including how to read both books and stars, so I have looked at the sky a lot in the past.” She turns her eyes back towards the specks of light shining above them. “They’re rather different down here though. The stars of the Scribes are incredibly vibrant, and they even seem to be actively trying to show me which path to take.” She chuckles to herself, realizing that it probably sounds a bit silly. “Anyways, thank you Peyford. I feel a bit more at ease now.”

Peyford nods at her. “Heh. Being the daughter of a scholar, maybe it was fate that you ended up with us. Each triumvirate was supposedly formed by one of the Scribes, after all.” He comments cryptically before nodding towards the wagon. “Perhaps you should get some rest. We will have to leave in the morning to be at the ridge in time. Good night, Reader.”

“Good night, Peyford.” She answers and heads back into the wagon, deciding to check the book at her first opportunity to figure out what the comment about the Scribes was supposed to allude to.


	6. Thrash Pack

The next morning, the Reader rises early and slips out into the common-room of the blackwagon before anyone else in the triumvirate is awake. There she takes a seat at the table and picks up the Book of Rites, quickly burying her nose within its pages. She was curious about what Peyford might have alluded to last night, saying that the triumvirates were formed by the Scribes as if that fact had some sort of relation to her. She gets to work skimming the first pages of each chapter of the book. Since they’re so conveniently color coded she feels like it would be a waste to not make use of the book’s intuitive layout to speed up her research.

A little while later she comes across a chapter dedicated specifically to describing the triumvirates. She is surprised to find that it is written by Ha’ub the Swallow, the imp Scribe. After hearing about his legends in the Commonwealth she had been a bit perplexed to find that the imps of the Downside were such simple creatures. It appears that Ha’ub might have been an exception rather than the rule. Putting that aside, she quickly flips through the chapter, passing over the other triumvirates until she finds the page about the Chastity, alongside a beautifully drawn rendition of the triumvirate’s sigil. Apparently this triumvirate was formed by Lu Sclorian Hundred-Minds, the Scholar. Seeing that name immediately brings back memories of her father and the Reader has to take a moment to reminisce.

She remembers that he had never put much of his faith in the nomad Scribe, Gol Golathanian, as was custom among other folk in the Commonwealth, and that under his tutelage she had instead learnt about the virtues of Lu Sclorian, to hold his wisdom and peaceful nature as great ideals to strive for. The Reader sighs at the thought... she may have been exiled, but it seems like her exile might have brought her just a little closer to the scholarly Scribe, and by extension, her father. It’s... a little comforting to think about. She then carries on to reading about what the triumvirate is supposed to represent. The qualities they are supposed to stand for... modesty, wisdom, integrity, and kinship...

At that moment the door to the living quarters swings open and Manley strides in, closely followed by Peyford.

“Peyford, I simply must ask you to, oh, please restate once more what you’re saying because I am having a hard time believing what I’m hearing.”

The Reader rolls her eyes. “And there he is, the embodiment of such qualities...” She mutters under her breath.

The sap is all smiles as usual, though the way he is rubbing his thumb and index finger together indicates that he is holding back more than a little bit of frustration.

“Manley.” Peyford replies. “I know that you can hear me perfectly well, and I believe we should make an attempt to be at the Ridge of Gol tonight. The Reader surveyed the stars in an incredibly skillful manner and I believe we would be best served heeding her advice.”

“Hmph- I cannot believe that you put so much stock in the girl after a single reading. We should continue to go by my instructions until she’s proven that hers are at least as reliable as mine.”

The sap is looking less composed by the minute, and Peyford glances towards the Reader as if asking for support. However, instead of responding, she simply raises the book to shield herself from being addressed. After last night she is not even considering having a conversation with Manley. Instead, she’d rather that the two of them argue it out among themselves.

Eventually, Peyford manages to sway Manley. He points out that while the sap expects the next Rite to be few days from now, the Reader instead predicts they should be at the ridge this night. That means that if they hurry they could check out both the Reader and Manley’s locations at each of their proposed times. He also notes that if the Reader’s take is accurate, then this is a good chance to verify her abilities. While Manley does not seem happy about it, he finally relents and orders a course towards the Ridge of Gol.

The trip there is uneventful, and while Peyford is scurrying about the wagon, cleaning up cobwebs, the Reader decides to spend the time leafing through the first chapter of the book. It tells the story of the last emperor of the fallen Empire of Sahr, Soliam Murr. She is certain that she has heard some variations of the fall and redemption of Murr in the past, either told as folk-tales or in some book her father read to her during her childhood. Still, she’s fascinated to see the book itself corroborate things from the stories such as the emperor turning into a demon and being saved by an imp. These fanciful details had always felt a bit like something out of a children’s story rather than a historic account, but they become hard to deny when read from a book supposedly penned by the Scribes themselves. Her musings are abruptly brought to a halt as the wagon shudders to a stop and Xaxiana calls out that they’ve arrived. Peyford quickly makes his way out of the wagon while Manley saunters out behind him. All three of them are already dressed in their raiments, save for the masks.

The Reader curiously follows them outside to watch them set up before the Rite. Peyford and Xaxiana grab a heavy-looking sigil from the back of the cart, the design matching the icon representing the Chastity which she had seen in the book. While they haul it into the Rite field under Manley’s supervision, the Reader surveys the surroundings. Sadly, she finds little other than rocks and dust, no sign of another triumvirate. This fact slowly starts to worry her, as she wonders if perhaps she did not read the stars as accurately as she thought. Soon the light begins to fade, and the darker it gets the more annoyed Manley seems to become, a fact which he is very diligent in sharing with the rest of the triumvirate.

“They’re not here yet.” He comments for what might be the twentieth time, shooting an annoyed glare in the Reader’s direction. She avoids his gaze, looking up to the sky to seek new guidance in the stars. It is then when she notices that all the stars of the Scribes have aligned, drawing the shape of the Scribe Star just as depicted in the book. She opens her mouth slightly in awe at the phenomenon above them, unlike anything she had seen in the Commonwealth before. However, the magic of that moment is suddenly broken by a loud howl from a nearby hill. Everyone’s heads snap around to find the source of the sound, and the sight almost makes the Reader duck behind her triumvirate. At the top of said hill are six curs, all dressed in menacing black and orange raiments, howling in unison as they start rushing down the slope in a loose formation. As they get closer the howling stops, only to be replaced by a constant cackling and hollering as three curs break off from the pack and take up a spot where they can watch the Rite.

Manley grunts in disgust at the sight, suddenly appearing more on guard than usual. For some reason he keeps occasionally looking over his shoulders or shifting his legs uncomfortably. The Reader leans in towards Peyford to quietly ask him what’s going on and why is Manley so on edge.

He responds in a low voice. “Oh, the leader of the triumvirate we are facing... Barker Ashpaws of the Dissidents has a tendency to... I believe the saying is he ‘pisses off’ the upper class.” At that, Xaxiana bursts into laughter, as if she just remembered something really funny.

The Reader raises an eyebrow, and is about to ask for clarification when she is interrupted by the remaining three curs dashing down onto the field, kicking up clouds of dust as they swerve at the bottom of the hill. Two of them haphazardly toss down the sigil they had been carrying on the opposite end of the field, while the third one approaches Manley and his cohort and hops up onto a rock to address them.

“Well I’ll be right buggered if it aint the Chastity! Since when are you lot ever on time for a Rite?!”

The loud cur claws at his mask for a few moments before throwing it down to his feet and putting his paw up on it. The Reader takes a moment to process the appearance of the cur, not quite sure what to make of him. His fur is completely black, and his eyes appear to be red in the dim light. His torn ears feature several piercings, his collar is adorned with spikes and a pair of metal skulls, and topping it all off, quite literally, is a bright red mohawk running from the top of his head down to his neck. It is all... incredibly bizarre.

After checking his robes again for some reason, Manley initiates his characteristic pleasantries with the cur while Peyford and Xaxiana go to take up their positions for the Rite. The Reader almost gets the sense that they are trying to avoid engaging with the cur for too long, and she remains a few paces back from the entire affair. However, after a short back and forth, Manley waves her over, and she begrudgingly approaches.

“Now, Barker, I simply must introduce you to the newest addition to the Chastity, which I am sure will guarantee our triumvirate’s bright, bright future. This is, our reader.”

The sap gestures at the Reader and she narrows her eyes at him in return, although the sap skillfully ignores the look. It is incredibly annoying to her how he keeps referring to her as an accessory to the triumvirate, rather than as a full member and a person. Well, no reason she should act badly to another triumvirate leader just because of that. Manley being rude is nothing new and maybe the cur’s appearance is deceiving. She bows slightly to Barker, assuming that a leader deserves at least some level of respect.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, mister Ashpaws.”

There is a moment of silence. The cur does not answer, though his mouth, which had up until this point been constantly open in a mocking grin, is closed as he examines her. Then, he bursts into a hysterical laughing fit.

“Bwaaahahahahah! Didja hear that fellas? What a polite little thing! Oy Manley, how’d you disguise yer sapling to behave like a nomad, ahaha!”

The Reader lowers her eyes, instantly regretting everything. Certainly, she knew how to deal with the veiled insults and insinuations of the upper class. This open mockery however, does not leave her with much of any recourse at all, other than sheepish silence.

“‘Ey fellas! You lot better call me ‘miiister Ashpaaws’ from now on eh?” Barker shrilly imitates the Reader’s voice, getting a laugh from his triumvirate in return. “If them fancy-pants can get respect without deserving it then why not me too? Gahah!”

Finally, Manley snaps back, seemingly more frustrated by the jab at his social standing than by the mockery of the Reader. “Bah! How utterly, utterly insolent! You common rabble cannot even comprehend what is at stake in the Rites, can you?! We would all be far better served by you standing aside and simply letting the Chastity prevail. Or perhaps we should continue this pointless mockery until the morning comes, mhm?”

Barker and his crew let out another howling laugh as the cur kicks his mask up into the air and catches it on his head. “First useful thing you said all night mate! ‘Cept we won’t be standin’ aside for no one. It’s way more fun to make Commonwealth babies like yerself cry after you lose. Bahaha!”

The cur strolls back to his crew and takes up his position as the leader of the triumvirate. Manley huffs, throws on his mask and moves to his own spot in front of Peyford and Xaxiana. The Reader hurriedly gets off the field and takes up a good vantage point as the pyres ignite behind the triumvirates.

...

“Reader!”

She winces in surprise as the Voice calls out to her again. She looks up at the sky where the stars are aligning, wondering if this is going to be a regular thing.

“You now look upon the glorious Ridge of Gol! Here, the Chastity has already conducted many a Rite… with far less success than they may have hoped for... This eve you shall stand against... The Dissidents! While they hunger for victory just as much as you do, you might find that they are more motivated by denying your freedom than by earning their own.”

The Reader frowns and turns her eyes back to the field where the triumvirates are waiting for the Rite to start. Now it occurs to her that she does not know where the orb comes from. Neither of the teams seem to have brought one, and she can’t recall where it came from during their vision inside the book. Thankfully, her question is soon answered, as a thin ray of light appears in the middle of the field. It quickly grows into a bright, shining pillar before a celestial orb crashes down right in between the two triumvirates.

“Begin!”

The voice calls out as the opposing teams burst into action. Although, ‘bursting’ might be too generous of a description of what the Chastity does. Manley starts slowly making his way towards the center of the field, seemingly intending to lock down the area with his aura. The Reader can tell there is no way he will be able to get in range to control the surroundings before Barker reaches the orb, and tries to get him to stop and hand initiative over to Peyford or Xaxiana instead. The sap stubbornly refuses, and she’s convinced she can hear him mentally scoff at her. This means that she can only watch as Barker runs straight past the orb, leaps over Manley, and takes out both Peyford and Xaxiana with a single well aimed aura blast. In that time, Manley has reached the center and projected his sapling to defend the orb. It serves little purpose however as another cur slides in behind him, already preparing to cast. By the time the Reader calls out for Manley to protect himself, the sap has already been banished in a flash of orange light.

The Reader puts her head in her hands as she watches the leader of the Dissidents get passed the orb and, with ample time before anyone from the Chastity returns, he has enough of an opening to do a taunting little dance before leaping backwards into the fire, cackling as he disappears into the flames.

“Barker douses the pyre, still completely lacking in respect for his betters I see!” The Voice comments.

Two dousings later and the Reader is starting to wonder how they can possibly turn the situation around. There is little to no coordination among her companions, and the two last rounds played out almost identically to the first one. This time however, after failing to control the center of the field, Manley decides to take up a defensive position, using his sapling to create a very large perimeter around the Chastity’s pyre. While the Reader agrees with this course of action, he then fails to capitalise on it in any significant way. Rather than letting his teammates move forward, he simply holds his position without accomplishing much, still refusing to cease his movements so that his teammates can advance and mount an offensive. The Dissidents on the other hand immediately capitalise on this defensive play, taking the opportunity to move their entire team forward before rapidly passing initiative back and forth between themselves and taking haphazard shots at the sap. Peyford and Xaxiana repeatedly get caught in the crossfire but Manley’s aura is enough on its own to keep the curs away from their pyre.

Of course, the sap can not hold out forever, and ultimately a stray aura blast banishes him despite the Reader’s attempts to give him accurate information about the curs’ movements. That moment however is when something surprising happens. At the exact moment Manley is banished, Xaxiana returns from her own banishment. The harp immediately capitalises on an opening, and with a furious shriek she charges straight through Barker and grabs the celestial orb. After a dash and a short flight she then plunges into the Dissident’s pyre, scoring their first blow.

“And at last, someone from the Chastity musters the courage to douse the opposing pyre.” The Voice remarks dryly as the teams get back into position and the Reader tries to once more convince Manley to let someone else act once he has his perimeter set up. She is met with no response as the next round starts.

The rest of the Rite is a long drawn out affair. The Reader feels like she is learning a lot about the capabilities of her triumvirate, but she is having issues putting any of the things she learns into action, as the three of them are either holding each other back, or not listening to her advice as is the case with Xaxiana. Ultimately it is all for naught. While they can play defense for a long time, the Chastity cannot hold the Dissidents off while also mounting an offensive of their own. Several rounds later and the Reader lets out a despaired groan as she watches one of the curs dive into the flame, finally snuffing out their pyre.

“And there it is, at last.” The Voice remarks. “The Dissidents stand victorious. And rather convincingly so, I must say. They have proved their worth, and will go on to further glory in the Rites. Now, I bid you farewell, Reader.”

...

The Reader slumps to the ground, exhausted, as her triumvirate joins her. However, she quickly gets a hold of herself as she sees Barker and the Dissidents approach.

“Oi Manley! Didn’t ya say you wanted us to stand aside eh? Sure didn’t think that meant you lot were just gonna step aside and let us dance into yer pyre! Bahahaha!” The Dissidents cackle loudly at the joke.

“Bah! This is an utter outrage I say!” Manley huffs as he throws his mask to the ground. As it hits the ground, one of the Dissidents darts forward, snatching the mask up in their teeth before putting it on and hopping up on a rock where everyone can see them.

“Oi Barker! Check this out.” The Reader immediately covers her face, seeing where this is going. The cur continues with a haughty tone, which is a decent approximation to Manley’s voice. “Good evening miiiiiister Ashpaaaws, I’m Manstick Babblestuff and I neeeever shut up. Please just give up and let me wiiiin. Hoooooooh.”

All the curs join into a raucous laugh, and the Reader buries her face further into her hands. She knows that this whole thing is going to reflect back onto her, and she really does not need more of Manley’s anger tonight. Finally, the taunting cur drops his mask and they all run off. After they’ve gone, the Reader bends down and grabs the mask, quietly handing it to its owner. Manley snatches it from her hands and huffs.

“I hope you’re aware of the deep, deep embarrassment I had to suffer through because of you!”

The Reader does not say anything in return. She’s being gnawed by the feeling that she could have done more to help in the Rite, even though she feels that Manley had been making everything far more difficult than it had to be. The sap continues complaining into the air, making sure the entire triumvirate knows exactly how displeased he is as he walks back towards the wagon. The Reader is starting to wonder if she should bother following him. After all, she is not feeling particularly wanted at the moment. Then, a hand is placed on her shoulder, and she looks back to see Peyford offering some comfort.

The Reader sighs. “I don’t understand...I tried to do my best...I’d worked out a simple strategy… but... I don’t even know if you have a strategy of your own, at least none that you told me about. Manley just… did not seem to want any input, or let anyone else act for that matter.”

Peyford snorts. “Pff. We’ve never had a strategy, Reader. Unless you count Manley offering empty promises from the Commonwealth in exchange for the triumvirates to stand aside as a strategy. Of course, no one would exchange a chance at freedom from the Downside for something immaterial in the Commonwealth. Really, it’s gotten to the point where no triumvirate even listens to him. And, if it is some comfort, from my perspective this Rite wasn’t that bad...the closest we’ve ever been to winning against the Dissidents was when Manley almost bored them to death. I believe that is how they came up with the strategy they used to banish him today.”

“I see… still, I am not really looking forward to going back to the wagon and facing him. It feels like I am entirely to blame for the loss in his eyes.”

Peyford pats her back. “Don’t get discouraged, Reader. This is simply a different flavour of his usual complaints, we’ve heard something similar after every Rite we’ve conducted.” He smiles faintly. “Now let’s go back and focus on the next step of our journey.”

The Reader smiles back weakly and nods.


	7. From Rags to Rites

The next day, the blackwagon is rolling along across the Downside Prairie and the Reader is caught up in her own thoughts again.

After the Rite, before heading back to the wagon, the Reader had looked up at the stars and once more gotten a vision, this time pointing them towards Jomuer, the dusk star. Peyford had noted with some amusement that that is the location Manley had predicted they should have headed towards to begin with. Rather than bringing this fact up and souring the sap’s mood further, they had simply decided to continue on as planned, and thus were now headed towards the Spring of Jomuer, ostensibly under Manley’s directions.

Now, In order to avoid further confrontation with the leader of the Chastity, the Reader has decided to engross herself further in the Book of Rites. After getting back on the road, she still could not let go of the feeling that there is more she could have done to help in the last Rite, and perhaps the book might contain some useful insights. More than its written contents, what catches her attention this time is the book’s clearly mystical nature. The Reader had already noticed that the book’s bindings were highly unusual, and she now extends her investigation to its pages, the way it was written, and its curious lack of wear despite its age. Indeed, at times it seems to be exuding a power which threatens to overwhelm her senses. Suddenly, there is a flash of inspiration. She cannot tell if it comes from herself or from within the very book she is holding, yet there it is. It suddenly seems so obvious. If the book has an inherent power, then she has a feeling that perhaps she can actually have some small influence on the Rite itself, as a reader with the book, through the presence of her own mind.

She thoughtfully closes the book right as the wagon suddenly stops and Xaxiana calls out from the roof.

“There’s something… no wait, someone, on the road! Looks like they’re dead...Perhaps we should grab their stuff?”

The Reader shakes her head, not sure if she heard the harp right at first. Though the question seems consistent with what she’s seen of the harp’s callous nature so far. As she ponders, Manley, who was reclining on a chair against a wall, presumably sleeping, moves his hand dismissively.

“What a terrible, terrible shame.” He replies. “Well, let’s just go around it. We’ve got somewhere to be and there’s no time for detours.”

The Reader, bothered by the implication that no one is going to move a finger for that person, stands up.

“Wait! Are we really going to leave someone who might be in need of help? We should at least get out and check if they’re actually alive.”

It is then that Peyford, who has been silent this whole time, heads towards the wagon’s exit door. As he leaves he comments over his shoulder.

“Indeed, it warrants a closer look. And if there is nothing to be done we can at least move them off the path.”

He is quickly followed by the Reader as he exits the wagon, and a moment later she hears a grumbling Manley following suit as well as Xaxiana hopping off the wagon roof to join them. The first thing that strikes the Reader as they head out is the sudden change in climate. Rather than the temperate weather of the Prairie, the sun is now blazing down on them, seemingly welcoming the triumvirate to the area known as Jomuer valley. She shields her eyes from the sun and looks towards the road, quickly spotting the prone figure in front of their cart.

As the group approaches, with Peyford in front, the figure slowly lifts his head, immediately disproving Xaxiana’s assertion that they were dead. It appears to be a ragged, unshaven man who’s apparently been out in the desert for a while. As his eyes fall upon the triumvirate before him, they widen and he suddenly scampers up onto his hands and knees, hurrying over to them and cupping his hands in front of him.

“Oh, ooh good people. Can you please spare a few sol for a poor soul? You see, I ended up wandering into the valley by mistake and- terrible mistake that was, thought I wouldn’t make it y’see? But it must’a been fate you see? I ended up meeting people as well-off as yourselfs who surely could at least gimme a lift outta this blazing valley in that fancy wagon of yours and...”

The beggar, and that is obviously what he is by now, keeps talking, effusively praising the triumvirate’s looks and repeatedly asserting how some rich people such as them surely must show some generosity to him as they most likely have enough to spare. As he talks, Peyford glances back over his shoulder at the rest of the triumvirate, raising an eyebrow. Manley scoffs in return, deliberately averting his eyes from the dirty man in front of them. Then the Reader overhears Xaxiana mutter to the sap.

“If we’re really in a hurry, I could just end his suffering and we’ll be on our way.” She leaves no room for doubt as to what she means by flexing her talons in the sand, making an ominous crunching sound.

The Reader balks at this, turning around to face the two of them while blurting out a hushed protest. “What are you talking about? You can’t just get rid of him for being in the way?!” To the Reader, this situation seems disturbingly similar to how they had found her only a few weeks ago. And that suggestion seems vaguely familiar. “So what? If I had not had the mark of a reader you would have simply murdered me?” Her accusing stare is avoided by Manley and met dead on by Xaxiana, leading to a short staring contest between the two of them. Though, unsettled by the harp’s intense eyes, she quickly turns back to Manley, addressing him directly, but still quietly. “My life is in no way worth more than this person’s, and I feel he should be treated with the same respect I was.”

At this point Manley takes a step forward and puts a spindly arm around the Reader’s shoulder, quietly leading her a couple steps away from the group. Seemingly this is unnoticed by the beggar who seems busy praising the small yet ornate badge pinned to Peyford’s collar.

“Now, Reader dear, it’s not that I disagree with you. On the contrary, your point of view is indeed, very, very admirable.” The Reader can sense the flattery is about to run out in favour of getting to the point. “It’s simply that, the Chastity does have some standards. Regrettably, it’s not as if we could pick up any fool we come across. You understand, hmm?”

Before she can stop herself, the Reader mutters under her breath “yet here you are…” followed by her immediately tensing up, hoping that Manley didn’t hear her. However, a brief tightening of Manley’s grip on her shoulder signals that he probably did indeed hear the jab. He continues speaking, the corners of his smile twitching as he tries to retain his composure.

“Oh but well! I suppooose those standards have been plummeting as of late, right around the time we took on our last member, mhm? After all, dear Reader, our latest addition has only lead us to more failure and hasn’t even proven themselves to be worth anything, have they?~” The sap’s usual arrogant smile becomes more secure as he watches the Reader grow red with embarrassment and anger, showing that his comment hit home. Without saying another word she pulls herself loose from his arm and walks back over to the group.

By now the beggar seems to have just made himself comfortable on the ground in front of Peyford, sitting cross-legged and holding a one-sided conversation with the stoic nomad, though he turns his head as the Reader approaches.

“Heyah lass. He’s not much of a talker eh? Can’t even tell me if he’s got any change, ahah!” He lets out a guffaw as the Reader clears her throat.

“Well, as a matter of fact…” She slowly starts explaining. “Though we can’t necessarily spare our sol right now… We’d be willing to offer you some food, drink, and shelter for a while if you don’t mind travelling along to where we’re heade-”

Her offer is suddenly interrupted by the beggar springing to his feet and catching her in an unrequested and highly uncomfortable hug, accompanied by a loud overacted kiss on her cheek.

“Scribes bless you lass! Name’s Avrec, lovely to meet ya! You won’t regret this decision at all!” He then scurries right past her into the wagon, likely to raid their stores of food and drink.

The Reader, still frozen from the sudden unexpected invasion of her personal space mutters to herself “I already regret it…”

As she stands there and tries to recover, the rest of the triumvirate head back into the wagon. Peyford and Xaxiana seem slightly entertained by the display, while Manley pats her on the shoulder and comments.

“Well well, it appears that when you pick up beggars from the road you don’t get people who share my gentlemanly nature, hah.”

The Reader sighs heavily and reluctantly turns back towards the wagon as she hears Avrec call from inside. “Hey, where do you folks keep the booze?!”


	8. Path to Glory

“It’s a dead scorpion.” The Reader states out loud to no one in particular as she stares down from her vantage point at the landmark supposedly known as the Spring of Jomuer.

“Wheew, it’s a big’un too.” Avrec chimes in, shielding his eyes and admiring the enormous body of what could only be called a titanic scorpion, whose remains lay crushed under an equally enormous boulder.

After picking up Avrec the remaining trip had been incident free, though not nearly as quiet as she might have hoped. The beggar was all too willing to share stories about his life and, while the details had gotten lost in the sheer mass of information, the Reader now had a sense of his past. In short, he used to be a wealthy businessman who lost everything to some ill-advised investment, or to gambling, or something of the sort. The story changed every time he told it. After his loss, Avrec had been reduced to begging and, after avoiding the Commonwealth officials for a good time, he was finally caught and charged with vagrancy for which he was exiled.

In the past, the Reader had pondered why she can’t remember ever seeing beggars on the Commonwealth streets. If Avrec’s story is true, and he was exiled simply for begging, it certainly shines a small bit of light on that situation, along with the hypocrisy of the Commonwealth. How could a society which sends people into exile simply for not fitting in call themselves merciful?

“Ya know what, Reader?” Avrec brings her back to the present by continuing to speak. “I’m thinking about trying to start a business, make it big in the Downside somehow. Then I’m gonna repay ya for giving me a lift, hah!” Avrec lets out a short laugh and stretches. “So what’re you fellas doing here anyways? Collecting giant bug claws?”

The Reader sighs. That’s just what she needed, another fool making empty promises. While thinking of an answer she looks back at the wagon where her triumvirate is preparing for the upcoming Rite, sorting out their raiments and generally psyching themselves up. “Well, you’ll see when night falls. It’s… a bit too unusual to put into words.”

“If ya say so lass! You have fun watching the bug, I’m grabbing a bite of dinner.” Avrec laughs and pats her hard on the shoulder, then he heads back inside the wagon.

A moment later, the rest of the Chastity exit the wagon clad in their raiments. The Reader follows behind them onto the field set out for the Rite, slightly on edge as she remembers the dynamic entry of the Dissidents. She hopes that that kind of performances are not a custom among their opponents.

Her fears are soon eased as the opposing triumvirate calmly strides onto their side of the field. They are three nomads dressed in golden raiments. Two of them are carrying the sigil of their triumvirate as the third one approaches the Chastity and doffs his mask. Underneath the expressionless mask is the face of a young man, though his stern countenance makes it difficult to tell his age. To the Reader, he gives off a sense of being someone with a harsh demeanor who tolerates no failure, and she feels an undeniable sense of hostility from him even before he opens his mouth.

“Manley.” He begins, his glare at the sap speaking as many words as his sour tone. “Still struggling for nothing as well, are you?”

Manley clears his throat, his arms crossed behind his back as he replies. “Well… yes, our group is carrying along as it always has, Lendel.”

The Reader immediately catches the change in Manley’s demeanor. No flattery? No requests for special treatment? She raises an eyebrow and mentions how odd Manley seems to be acting, and Xaxiana pipes up with a grin on her face.

“Oh, he tried his usual thing with Lendel. And you know how he’ll just go on and on if you don’t interrupt him? Well, Lendel let him blabber on for a while, and when Manley offered him some promise or such for the fifth time, well…” The harp pauses and chuckles to herself, covering her mouth with a wing. “Old sourface over there grabbed the twig by his collar, pulled him down to his level and said he’d rather get expelled from the Rites for breaking Manley’s arms than standing aside for someone like him.” She covers her forehead for a moment, clearly struggling to not cackle. “His face was priceless! Oooh it’s the funniest thing these Rites have brought us yet”.

The Reader is having some trouble seeing the humor in a situation like that. In fact, she feels a bit bad for Manley. But she supposes she’s at least gotten an answer to her question.

At that point, Lendel has clearly gone through any pleasantries he wishes to share with Manley and looks past the sap at his triumvirate. “Why have you brought an additional person onto the field? They’re wearing your colors but those are not raiments.”

It is more of a cold remark than a question but Manley answers anyways. “Oh yes… that’s…” He sighs, clearly not able to muster even fake enthusiasm this time. “That is our new reader. She’ll be off the field before we start.” He doesn’t even look back, and the Reader is slightly irked by the complete switch from boasting about to diminishing her value. She frowns, but says nothing.

Meanwhile, Lendel looks back to Manley. “I can’t believe you’re wasting your time getting a reader now of all times, when it is all ultimately pointless.” He grunts, clenching his fist as his face contorts in frustration, more than his resting face. The Reader feels as if he is about to launch into a long tirade.

“It’s ridiculous! First those blasted Nightwings deny me my freedom, then they mock me by vanishing from the Downside for years! Years!!” He exclaims, turning around and throwing his hands in the air.

Lendel continues ranting, repeatedly cursing the ‘Nightwings’, which she has to assume is the name of another triumvirate. She makes a note to inquire about these ‘Nightwings’ once the Rite is over. While he carries on, the Reader studies what little parts of him that are not covered by his raiments. She notices that he is wearing what appears to be an armored collar, which has a small colorful star emblazoned on its side. The star reminds her slightly of the small badge Peyford wears on his own suit collar, another thing she makes a note to ask about.

As Lendel stomps back towards his spot at the front of his triumvirate, the Reader leaves the field. She’s a bit surprised to see Peyford following her, and she gives him an inquiring look. After they’ve both stopped out of earshot of the two triumvirates, Peyford clears his throat.

“It’s… not my intention to put undue pressure on you, Reader, but it would mean a fair bit to me if this Rite could be… at the very least not as unfortunate as the last one.”

The Reader is about to complain, but senses that the comment is not meant in ill-faith. Instead, she decides to ask the question that she just noted.

“Does this have something to do with your similar star-shaped badges?”

There is a tiny hint of surprise on Peyford’s face, then he chuckles quietly. “Huh, you pay quite the attention to detail... Unfortunately, it’s a bit of a long story. Just know that I have my reasons for wishing to prevail tonight in particular.”

The Reader nods her understanding and Peyford walks back onto the field. Once alone again, she looks at the rest of the triumvirate. Saying she’ll do better is all fine and well, but how is she going to accomplish that? She rubs her temples with a groan. Just thinking about dealing with Manley’s stubbornness again is giving her a headache.

As she ponders this she notices Avrec walking up to her. She does a double-take as she realizes that the beggar is wearing a spare set of raiments, twirling a mask in one hand and holding a copy of the Book of Rites in the other.

“Was gettin’ a bit chilly so I borrowed some of yer spare clothes. Gotta say, colors are a bit funny and what’s with the masks? You jesters or somethin’?” He grins and pats the Reader on the shoulder. “Also lookit this!” He shows her the book. “I thought these things were illegal, aren’t they?” His eyes then drift to the book she’s holding. “Wait...How many of those you got?! We could make a lot of sol selling ‘em!” The Reader is spared from answering as suddenly the stars align above them, drawing both their attention. “Oooh! I’mma go get a closer seat. Looking like this’ll be quite the show eh?”

Before the Reader can stop him, Avrec slides down the hill and sits down just behind the Chastity’s pyre. She shrugs to herself. If he wants to sit down there that’s fine she guesses. As long as he’s not on the field at least. She shakes her head and turns her eyes toward the aligned stars in the sky. The Rite will soon begin.

…

“Reader!”

She’s gotten a bit more used to the Voice bursting into her mind. This time she doesn’t even flinch.

“I see the stars have guided you truly to the Spring of Jomuer. At least I presume you did not make it here by chance, did you?”

“More importantly however, it seems that you now have four exiles in your triumvirate, not the expected three...!”

The Reader furrows her brow and looks down at the field. Is the Voice talking about Avrec? He’s clearly not on the field… Does he count as part of the triumvirate just by wearing the raiments?

“The rules of the Rites were not created for you to besmirch! I hope you are not going to start adhering to the Chastity’s habit of pushing your boundaries just to gain an edge in this glorious tradition...”

“Now, you will be facing...the Accusers! Perhaps they are not as just as they once were, but they still fight vigorously to earn their freedom. Whosoevers pyre still burns at dawn will be deemed the victor of this Rite.”

“But first, you have a choice to make.”

The Reader looks back down at the field. Does she really need to confirm that the three people on the field are the ones participating?

“Who will conduct the Rite for the Chastity tonight?” The Voice prompts her.

The Reader rubs her forehead before speaking out loud to herself. “Well, conducting for the Chastity tonight are… Peyford...”

“Peyford!”

And as she speaks Peyford’s name, the Voice repeats it and his aura flares up in a customary fashion, showing he is ready to participate.

“Xaxiana...”

“Xaxiana!”

The harp’s aura ignites as well, following her command. “And…”

She hesitates and looks down at the field. She notices Manley looking ready to step in front of the other two members, standing straight up with his usual conceited look. Her mind fills with all the things he said about her, how he treats her as an object, constantly diminishing her worth, even blaming her entirely for the Dissidents loss. She then looks at Avrec, who is still sitting behind the pyre, and she suddenly has the most crazy idea, so stupid it might even work. She clutches the book in her hands and tries to communicate with him.

<Avrec, can you hear me?>

As she directs her thoughts towards the beggar, she can see him perk up, then look around and spot her still up on the hill. He waves at her and the Reader nods to herself.

<I’m going to let you join in on this Rite. Putting it simply, I need you to wear the mask, hold on to the book, and most importantly, only ever move when I say so. I’ll tell you more once we get started, is that alright with you?>

She watches as Avrec puts on his mask and gives her a thumbs up. The Reader takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable backlash this is going to cause from a certain sap.

“Choose already!”

The Voice thunders in her head and she speaks the word. “...Avrec.”

“Avrec!” She swears she can hear a hint of bemusement in the Voice’s tone.

Behind the pyre, an aura lights up around the beggar, and he leaps to his feet, startled. Equally surprised is Manley, who looks down at the ground, then up at the Reader, then back at Avrec. He shakes his book a few times before hurrying off the field, moving fast enough to leave a gash in the dirt behind him. The Reader can only imagine what sort of expression he is making under his mask right now.

“Oh Readeeeeer!” She can hear Manley call out as he makes his way within earshot. “Would you care to explain what sort of, highly, HIGHLY unusual phenomenon is going on right now, mhm?” The sap unfastens his mask, revealing the most strained smile she has seen from him yet. “You have noticed what I have, have you not? The beggar HAS an aura, Peyford is standing in MY spot, and I am up here, complaining to my reader in the MOST undignified manner.”

The Reader tries to affect a perplexed expression to disguise her discomfort. “It’s… most curious, isn’t it?” She smiles nervously. “I’m not really sure… are you holding the book properly…?”

She can immediately tell that her lie did not go through, as Manley’s smile twitches. “Ohooo… So YOU are behind this aren’t you, Reader? Now, I’m not upset...NOT upset at all! But I am eagerly waiting for you to tell me what is going on, hmm?”

The Reader simply clenches her teeth and looks back to the field. Perhaps it is time to try ignoring Manley like Peyford and Xaxiana seem to do on a daily basis.

“Well…?”

Manley keeps trying to get her attention but the Reader can tell that the orb is going to fall any moment now and that she really should be focusing on the Rite.

“Reader...I DON’T appreciate how you’re IGNORING ME!”

The sap keeps talking next to her and she can feel how his patience is running thin by the way he emphasizes some of his words. Then, a light starts shining in the center of the field, and a moment later the celestial orb crashes down between the triumvirates.

“Begin!”

As the Voice calls out, the Reader immediately turns her thoughts to Avrec, while the Accusers move up towards the center.

<So, the object of the Rite is to grab the orb in the center of the field, and then carry it into the opposing pyre. Now, I realize that that may sound fairly intimidating, but supposedly your raiments are firepro->

Before she has time to finish her instructions, she sees Avrec take off at a sprint towards the center of the field. Apparently, he had interpreted some part of her explanation as a command to get started. Both the Reader and Manley watch speechlessly as the beggar runs across the field at a pace almost rivalling that of a cur. He snatches up the orb in front of Lendel, before the Accusers’ leader can react, and then, with a cheerful cry of “woohoo!” the beggar takes a second to plant his feet on the ground before making an impressive leap right over one of the other nomads, directly into their pyre. The Reader almost thinks that she can see him pump his fist as he disappears into the flame.

“The… Chastity…? Ahem! The Chastity douses the Accusers flame!”

Even the Voice seems slightly caught off guard by the sudden occurrence. Manley appears equally appalled.

“Fine then!!” He sighs loudly and angrily before throwing his book at the Reader’s feet and strides towards the wagon.

The Reader grits her teeth. That is going to be a fun conversation they’ll inevitably have later. For now however, she has a Rite to conduct. A Rite that actually started with them dousing their opponent’s pyre, a Rite with real chances of prevailing. She notices that the confusion has reached Peyford and Xaxiana, who are now staring at each other, not sure of what the next course of action is. She quickly makes contact with Peyford and gives him a general strategy, starting with some signals that him and Xaxiana can use to tell who should be moving at any time. While she gives the same instructions to Xaxiana, she still cannot tell if the harp can hear her at all. From there on, the Rite continues far more smoothly than the last one against the Dissidents. With the Reader’s guidance, Peyford and Avrec can control the field fairly well, creating openings for either Xaxiana or Avrec to jump into the Accusers’ pyre. The only issue she notes is that the harp keeps getting intercepted by the opposing nomads leaping into the air and tackling her onto the ground, ending more than one of their promising offensives.

While the skill of each triumvirate is relatively even, with both of them striking blows against their opponents’ pyres, the Chastity does gradually gain a small advantage, to Lendel’s growing frustration. Finally, after Avrec douses the flame yet another time, the leader of the Accusers calls out to his triumvirate.

“Stand your ground Accusers! Hold together and let your auras seethe! Keep them away from the flame!”

The Reader realizes that they must certainly not have a reader coordinating them, seeing as Lendel is giving verbal commands when they change their strategy. She watches curiously as the opposing triumvirate gathers around their pyre. As their auras touch, their radius increases to an impressive level. From her elevated position she can easily gauge that Peyford could not jump the distance… Xaxiana would likely be knocked out of the air if she tried to fly over them, and Avrec is still banished as he struck the latest blow. While Peyford moves forward and grabs the orb she ponders how to get past this potential stalemate without leaving an opening for the Accusers.

“I wonder if you know what that Lendel did to deserve his exile, hmm?”

The Voice interrupts her thoughts with a seemingly irrelevant comment. She flings her hand out and tries to shoo it away. However interesting the topic of Lendel’s exile might be, surely now is not the time to ponder it. Then, inspiration suddenly strikes her, as she looks at her outstretched hand. Flinging it…?

<Peyford! Throw the orb!> She calls out.<Your aura is still there inside the orb. Focus on it as if you were casting it. There is nothing in the book that prohibits it. Just send it right between the Accusers and into their pyre!>

There is a moment of hesitation, but then Peyford crouches down and lets the orb rest just above his book, before casting it forward, propelling it between the Accusers. It strikes the pyre, and to everyone’s surprise it appears to be doused by the act.

“Quite a clever move, flinging the orb...” The Voice comments. “You elude banishment using such tricks.”

And it appears to be true. Once they take their positions for the next round, the Reader is surprised to see that her entire triumvirate is present and ready for what might be the final round.

<Good, for the last round… Peyford, advance around the center and take up a good position for throwing your aura. Avrec, when he gets there follow on the other side. We’re going to open up an opportunity for Xaxiana. You each will cast your aura and then switch off, hit them from both directions and get them all banished at once. I’ll call out when you should switch. We do it safely and only advance when they can’t stop us.> The Reader lays out their next strategy before they begin, taking a page out of the tactics that the Dissidents used to break through Manley’s defenses.

The implementation of the strategy is near flawless. Both Peyford and Avrec are responsive to her callouts, and they both wave for Xaxiana to move when there is an opportunity. The two-pronged attack is quite effective against the careful play of the Accusers. After a long round of coordinated advances, the Reader finally lets out a cry of joy as she sees Xaxiana plunge into the Accusers’ pyre, snuffing it out.

“And there it is. The Chastity prevails, somehow. More than I expected from the likes of them...”

...

She cannot even be annoyed at the Voice’s derisive comments. They just prevailed in a Rite! Before they can celebrate however, Lendel stomps forward onto the field and tears his mask off.

“I see even your new recruit shares that tendency of yours of only pulling out a victory through underhanded tricks!” He hisses with barely contained fury, teeth clenched. “First you conceal your third participant from us, then you throw the orb into our pyre! These affronts won’t be forgotten, reader of the Chastity!” He points his finger towards her and the Reader is startled at him addressing her personally. He then continues. “Know only that you stain your reputation for nothing, as liberation still will not come for any of us!” And without elaborating, he stalks off into the night, followed by his fellow Accusers.

Once he is gone, the Reader’s companions approach her, all appearing to be in a fairly bright mood despite the accusations.

She looks across their faces, and she can swear that this is the first time she sees Peyford genuinely smile.


	9. A Howl in the Night

The Reader can hardly believe how different this last Rite had felt compared to the one before it. When the triumvirate worked as a cohesive unit and listened to her directions it seemed almost… easy... to do her job as a reader. Looking around once more at the faces of her companions, she can feel a bit of pride building in her heart.

“I must compliment you, Reader.” Peyford speaks up after he finishes putting his glasses back on. “Your guidance was quite on point tonight. This was a tremendous improvement from how you did against the Dissidents, and a huge step up from how we’ve usually done before you joined.”

The Reader takes the compliment to heart, reflecting on the differences between this Rite and the terrible one they had against the Dissidents a few days ago. She can’t help but feel like the real thing that changed was not her performance, but rather the way the team had let her do her job without interfering. She groans inwardly as she recalls how much of the previous Rite she had spent pleading with Manley to listen to her and cooperate with the rest. If he had been as responsive as Avrec and Peyford had been this Rite, maybe they could at least have made more than a dent in the Dissidents’ pyre.

Her thoughts are interrupted by an intense feeling of being watched. Looking around, the Reader realizes that Xaxiana has been staring at her since they left the field. The harp’s mood is as inscrutable as always, but her expression this time is more thoughtful than usual. As the Reader meets Xaxiana’s eyes, the harp looks away and quietly heads back to the wagon.

The Reader watches her leave when Avrec suddenly throws an arm around her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “Well paint me pink and call me uncle! I didn’t expect you folks to be magicians aye?!” He shakes the Reader excitedly, launching into a cavalcade of incredulous comments. “Can ya believe it? Tonight I’ve jumped into a fire, disappeared into thin air, thrown light in people faces, and had a woman talking into my head from way far away! Ahah! Unbelievable i’nnit?”

The Reader smiles to herself. What is truly unbelievable in her mind is that the beggar had actually agreed to participate, as well as proving to be a highly valuable member immediately. Avrec keeps excitedly talking for a while longer before patting her on the shoulder in his usual way.

“Well, I’mma head to bed. All o’ that running around has got me wishing for some sleep.”

He heads back to the wagon, stretching and letting out a loud yawn. Soon after, Peyford nods at the Reader and walks into the wagon as well. As the Reader turns to follow him, she’s stopped by a spindly hand on her shoulder and she freezes. Right, there’s someone she had not been thinking of up until now. She slowly turns her head, and of course, there is Manley with his usual smiling face. It appears he regained his composure while the Rite was going on.

“Oooh, Reader. I see you have a moment, correct?” The sap flashes her a smile with just the slightest hint of annoyance in it. “I believe there is an important conversation which we should have, hmm?”

The Reader sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Can’t we have that talk tomorrow? It’s late and I need to read the stars…”

“Oh nooo, I insist Reader, we really, really, should have this conversation now.”

The Reader groans but nods her head, letting the sap lead her away from the immediate vicinity of the blackwagon. She supposes it is better to get this over with.

As she follows him, the Reader starts talking. “I suppose congratulations are in order after my performance tonight. Was it up to your expectations?” She teasingly says, fully knowing that this is not what Manley was planning to discuss either way.

“A fortuitous victory, indeed.” Manley stops and looks down at her from the corner of his eye, using his height advantage to reaffirm his sense of superiority. “However, I simply cannot commend your decision to put a completely inexperienced… _lowlife_... in my position.” He turns and looks down at the Reader, his smile slowly thinning out. “Why, it makes one wonder if you see this as some sort of game, dear Reader. A petty little amusement, where you try to make me look bad in front of both my opponents and my triumvirate, hmm? I believe I do not need to remind you that _I am_ still the leader of the Chastity, correct?”

The Reader frowns slightly but does not interrupt as the sap continues. “And as such, it is I, who decides who will conduct the Rites. Not you. Why, this time your decision was a surprise to everyone, but if you continue to behave in such a frightfully, irresponsible, and disrespectful manner, well... I am afraid I will be forced to do something about it.”

Sensing he has said his piece, the Reader takes a moment to compose herself before calmly replying. So he thinks this is personal, does he? Well, maybe he would have less reason to think that if he could do more than just fake a bit of politeness from time to time.

“It seems that you’re mistaking my intentions, Manley.” She puts some pointed emphasis on his name but does not linger on it. “My choice was not a direct attack on you, or your reputation. Instead, it was a gamble on behalf of the Chastity as a group. Seeing as you could not cease deriding me after the Dissidents Rite, I felt it necessary to attempt to succeed by any measure, and given the great success we had, I do not regret my decision.” She pauses to catch her breath. An argument is better if it is delivered coolly and calmly after all. “In fact, I believe this is more of an opportunity for some self-reflection of your own. What does it actually mean, that your triumvirate does better without your participation, and with a completely new, inexperienced _lowlife_?”

The sap sputters. “The only new and inexperienced _element_ here is YOURSELF! Forcing changes and risky moves into MY triumvirate after conducting a SINGLE Rite!!” He pointedly jabs a finger at the Reader, his smiling face giving way to a furious one for a moment. Then, he immediately tries to regain his composure, adjusting his suit collar. “Ah but this is so improper of me. To descend to such a level as to argue with a nomad in this way...”

He then continues. “Now. The internal hierarchy of a triumvirate is a deeply, deeply important thing, as I am sure you know.” The Reader can feel a long rambling monologue coming on. “As such, it is obvious which member of a refined triumvirate such as ours should be making important decisions, no? I can, of course, elaborate on the history of such hierarchies in the hope that it may help you see things my way, hmm? Well, it transpires that-“ As the monologue continues, the Reader soon stops paying attention, instead glancing from side to side in the darkness surrounding her. She is fairly certain she can hear distant… howling? Or it’s a lot of closer howling noises made by very small creatures...

“-and as such, due to my extensive experience with both the Rites and with leadership, I feel that-”

“Shh! Be quiet! Did you hear that?” The Reader interrupts Manley.

“Reader! This is preposterous! How many times are you going to interrupt me while I am speaking? There is no way we are going to build a good… standing…” The sap soon trails off as he too notices the noises. It sounds like some sort of… gibbering, tittering noises, combined with occasional high-pitched howls.

The Reader shifts uncomfortably, trying to spot whatever is making the sounds. She realizes that they may be surrounded, as the noises are coming from all around, getting closer by the second. Then, she spots a pair of shining yellow eyes and, with a gasp, she steps back, bumping into Manley, much to the sap’s displeasure, judging by the sour look he gives her.

“Well?!” The Reader blurts out, turning around to face him. Her panic rises as more eyes start appearing all around them, eyes that appear to be attached to feral, snarling, howling imps. “Look at what a great situation this is! All because you had to drag me out into the night to- to- to... lecture me about your hurt feelings! Now we’re about to be eaten by feral imps!!”

At this point the roles seem to have reversed, as the Reader is losing her composure while Manley appears as calm as one can be. She can swear he rolls his eyes before smiling at her, adopting his usual arrogant demeanor. “Oh but dear Reader, I must ask you to keep yourself together.” He leans down and adds in a quieter tone. “They get angrier if you shout.” The Reader does not have time to evaluate if he is telling the truth or not before the sap steps away from her, spreading his arms apart. She wonders if she is about to witness some sort of aura display or secret mode of sap self-defense.

Instead, Manley begins speaking. “Oooh, good evening my impish friends!” The Reader’s palm collides hard with her forehead. “I feel that perhaps instead of snarling at each other we could reach an agreement with a minimum of violence involved, hmm?” She cannot believe that the sap is trying to reason with feral creatures like this, especially when she has a hard enough time convincing drive imps to leave her food alone.

Just as the closest howler leaps at Manley, the Reader hears another sound cut through the howling. It’s a low whooshing noise, and as the Reader raises her eyes she sees a pinkish-yellow blur sweep in front of them and knock the howler out of the air.

“What are you idiots thinking!? Stay near the wagon at night!” Xaxiana pauses briefly to shout at the two of them before swooping through the surrounding ring of howlers and opening up a path for the Reader and Manley to escape through. The beasts are shrieking and howling even louder now, whether it is from excitement or fear, the Reader can not tell as she sprints for safety. While running, she takes one more look back at the ferocious harp, getting a brief glimpse of her throwing howlers left and right as she draws the attention away from the two escaping figures.

Once out of danger, Manley quickly excuses himself in a muttering manner and makes his way towards the wagon. The Reader however, slows down a little, looking back into the dark of night. After a few minutes of staring, she sees a familiar winged shape appear out of the shadows. She approaches the harp, puts a hand on her shoulder, and boldly meets her eyes.

“What you did back there was amazing!” She begins, not even trying to conceal how impressed she is. “I just… can’t thank you enough. I thought Manley had deliberately lured me into some terrible situation... or just done something really stupid, and I don’t know what I would have done had you not… come swooping in like that!”

The harp seems taken aback by the praise, avoiding the Reader’s gaze for the first time since they’ve met. The Reader can’t quite read her expression. Is she embarrassed? Happy? Xaxiana brushes the Reader’s hand off her shoulder.

“I’m happy I could help more than hurt…” She awkwardly mutters before disappearing towards the wagon.

The Reader quickly hurries after her in order to not be left in the dark again, and a moment later they reach the relative safety of the wagon. Once there, the Reader spots Peyford waiting at the door of the wagon. Even in the dark, the Reader can tell he is worried.

“Xaxiana told me she had not checked the area for howlers since we would be doing the Rite and went to look for you. What in the world were you two doing outside?”

The Reader clenches her teeth nervously and tries to come up with an explanation. “We were simply, err... reading the stars to set a course for the next Rite.” She quickly looks up at the sky, finding the direction they should head in. “Manley said he thinks we should head for… well… Ha’ub, the Midnight Star! Isn’t that correct?” She calls past Peyford into the wagon.

“Oh- oh yeees indeed. The next Rite should take place at the Cairn of Ha’ub. How fortunate we have been that they are all so close together lately, hmm?” She gets a hurried response, as the sap seems eager to claim credit if she wants to give it to him. The Reader hopes that attributing it to Manley will smooth things over a bit between them.

Peyford’s raises an eyebrow a bit. “Well… I’m sure the sky looks the same from the wagon’s door as it does from wherever you two went off to, so next time you don’t need to put yourself in danger like that.” The Reader can sense that Peyford does not entirely believe her, but at least his worries appear to have been calmed a bit. She just hopes that they won’t have any more close encounters in the wilderness during the rest of their journey.

As she steps into the wagon, she sees the first rays of the next day peeking over the horizon behind her.


	10. Glorious Tradition

“...And that is the short version of what the Rites are all about.”

During their wagon trip towards the next landmark, the Reader decided to take the opportunity to elaborate on the rules of the Rites to Avrec. The beggar had been attentive, though she could have done without his constant humorous quips about the absurdity of it all.

“Hah! That’s a right earful all that. So all o’ this magic ritual stuff is to get some liberation?” His expression briefly becomes more serious. “Lotsa work to go back to a bunch o’ folks who don’t want ya in the first place eh?” He brightens up again. “But ‘ey! I’ll be glad ta stick around if ya need me. I play yer magic game and ya give me a place to sleep eh? Ahah!”

The Reader turns her head to see Manley’s disapproving glare from the other end of the wagon. Wishing to avoid annoying him again, she quickly changes the subject away from Avrec’s membership.

“Speaking of liberation...” She looks towards Peyford who is once again hurrying around the wagon, cleaning up cobwebs.

“Excuse me, Peyford. Do you have a moment, please?” She catches the nomad’s attention, who looks back at her. “Lendel said something which had me thinking... He said… liberation will not come for any of us...What did he mean by that? Do you think that he believes the Rites are just an elaborate hoax?”

Peyford finishes sweeping off a shelf, letting out a small cough before sitting down with the Reader and Avrec. “Lendel does make a habit of pointing fingers and throwing out accusations more than he should. Though in this case, he does have a point.” He holds up a hand to stop any incoming questions. “I’m not saying that the Rites are not the only way to leave the Downside... they certainly are. However, for some years now there has been a… missing piece so to say.”

The Reader lowers her head, putting together the parts that she extracted from Lendel’s ranting. “The Nightwings, right? What are they?” She asks, looking back to Peyford again.

Peyford agrees with a nod. “Right, the Nightwings. Maybe there is something in the book about them, but here is what I understand. The Rites are all competitive in nature, as you’ve seen. So throughout these clashes between triumvirates, the ones who prevail gain favor with the Scribes. Then, at the end of a cycle, the most favored triumvirate gets summoned to Mount Alodiel, to the Fall of Soliam, where they conduct a liberation Rite. Those who prevail in this Rite get to anoint a person from their triumvirate to return to the Commonwealth.”

The Reader voices her thoughts, guessing at the conclusion. “But since only the most favored triumvirate gets summoned, then who do they face? That’s what the Nightwings are, then? The final opponent for the most worthy triumvirate?”

Peyford smiles and nods again. “Indeed. The problem is that several years ago, supposedly after Lendel had lost a Rite on top of the mountain, the Nightwings mysteriously disappeared. No one has faced them in a liberation Rite since then, and thus, no one has been liberated.” He stands back up and grabs his featherduster again. “Of course, none of the other triumvirates have stopped conducting the Rites. After all, if the Nightwings were to suddenly return then we would not want to be left unfavoured and caught off guard.”

The Reader thanks him for the information and dives back into the Book of Rites, planning on expanding on what Peyford just relayed to her. However, the book did not have much more information about the Nightwings beyond the reason for their existence. In essence, they were formed collectively by the eight Scribes, envisioned to exceed all other triumvirates, and in possession of infinite favor. She feels bothered by the idea of one triumvirate having to be inherently better than the rest, as it feels like your chances at liberation depended entirely of which group of people you have the chance to be with.

She shakes her head and decides to spend the rest of the trip reading the chapter about the Cairn of Ha’ub, the location where the next Rite will take place. This landmark holds the remains of the bone titan Shax Six-Shoulders who was slain by Ha’ub, the imp Scribe. Sadly, the chapter is sparse with information which might be useful in the Rite, and while the description is foreboding and poetic, it lacks any substance. Disappointed, she closes the book as the wagon stop at its destination.

What she comes across when she steps outside of the wagon and squints against the barely setting afternoon sun is nothing so forbidding as the book describes. Before her, beyond the field set aside for the Rite, is a collection of humongous bones, strewn in a pile in the canyon leading north. The field itself is surrounded by some dull-looking crystals which barely sparkle in the sunlight, and all in all it is a rather drab scene compared to the vibrant Spring of Jomuer. She cannot deny, however, that the bones themselves are of impressive proportions, clearly belonging to a humanoid larger than the Ridge of Gol. It really makes her wonder how an imp managed to defeat something of that size.

As it stands, they have quite a few hours to spend before the Rite begins so the Reader sits down to rest for a bit. While doing so, she looks around to see what her triumvirate is using the time for. Peyford and Xaxiana decided to get a head start on setting up the sigil in the field, and currently seem to be discussing something regarding the upcoming Rite. Avrec is nowhere to be seen, likely still inside the wagon, eating or drinking. Manley however seems to be somewhat surreptitiously making his way away from the wagon, following a small shape bouncing along the ground… an imp?

Intrigued, the Reader gets up from her seat and follows him, keeping a fair distance away from the sap. Sure, what he does may not be any of her business, but something about the way he had looked around himself and his general posture had seemed suspicious. The Reader manages to keep up with Manley rather well, hiding behind dry shrubs to conceal her presence, but after a short while of sneaking, she finds herself suddenly jolting upright… as a voice addresses her from behind.

“Good evening, young one. Pretty sunset, isn’t it?”

The Reader spins around and for a second sees nothing. She then looks down and notices a cur staring back at her, clad in purple and yellow raiments. He appears bent with age, and his fur is severely graying, to the point that patches of it have turned completely white. Combined with him having one milky-white eye, the Reader can’t avoid seeing him as a very old little man as he sits before her.

“Ah! G-Good evening.” The Reader suddenly feels overcome with a need to remember her manners, giving a short bow to the elderly cur.

The cur bows his head in return, smiling politely through his beard. “It is pleasant to see that the Chastity have gained a new member.” He gestures with a paw towards the Reader’s yellow and pink cloak. “My name is Dalbert Oldheart, of the Fate. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The Reader responds in kind. “I am the Reader of the Chastity, it is lovely to make your acquaintance, mister Oldheart. Even though I am just learning the Rites, I hope that we will perform adequately.” She now reflects on how she might be served by being a bit more cautious around this person, judging by their track record with other triumvirates so far.

The kind old cur looks into her eyes with a thoughtful expression. After a few moments, he reaches into his raiments and pulls out a small object that looks like some kind of brooch in colors that remind her of a flame. He holds it out to the Reader. “Please, accept a welcoming gift, to ease your entry into this glorious tradition.”

“Oh no, that looks valuable, I couldn’t accept it for free.” The Reader tries to politely decline but the cur gently puts it in her hand.

“I insist, young one. We have several of its like, as it is a crest representing a triumph of old times.” Dalbert gives her another soft smile, looking at her in an almost fatherly way. “I think I can see some of Jomuer Many-Mane’s burning spirit in your eyes, along with a spark of kindness, qualities that I feel that the Chastity have greatly needed.” He shakes his head. “Poor ones, always looking out for themselves and with so little kinship among them. Perhaps a spirit such as yours may bind them together.”

The Reader feels that the cur is likely giving her far more credit than she deserves, but she can not in good conscience reject it after such a speech.

“Thank you mister Oldheart. I will take your kind words into consideration.” She bows her head slightly in gratitude before putting the crest inside of her cloak. At that moment there is a rustling from the dry shrubs surrounding them, and a voice calling out.

“Father! There you are!”

As the Reader turns her head towards the voice, she spots a youth clad in raiments of the same color as Dalbert. His appearance brings a somewhat cur-like air around him. His black hair is messily tied up at the top of his head, his ears are decorated with bits of bone and she notes a necklace with a pawprint hanging out of his raiments. Additionally, his nose is painted with some form of tribal mark, a feature she now notes he shares with Dalbert. The youth approaches the cur before speaking up again.

“Who are you talking to?”

He turns his eyes toward the Reader, giving her an intense glare, and she is struck by the contrast in their manners.

“Ah, Almer.” Dalbert answers, looking up at the young man as he approaches. “Reader, please allow me to introduce you to my son, Almer Oldheart. Almer, this is the Reader of the Chastity.”

The Reader bows her head politely. “It is a pleasure to m-”

She barely has time to finish her response before Almer speaks again. “The Chastity?! Father! Why are we speaking to the enemy? There is no need for us to be so formal to them!”

At this, Dalbert holds up a paw, gesturing for his son to calm down. “Almer… Our opponents are a part of this tradition as much as we are, and deserve the same respect.” He turns his eyes towards the Reader again. “Please, forgive my son…”

The Reader shakes her head. “There is nothing to forgive. I understand why he would be suspicious of me...”

Dalbert nods and then looks at the horizon. “The sun is setting and the stars will soon align... Let us meet again upon the field of the Rite, Reader.” The cur and the Reader exchange one last pair of bows before Almer leads Dalbert off towards the Cairn of Ha’ub, likely to finish preparing for the Rite.

The Reader smiles sadly to herself as she watches them leave. The fatherly love and the protectiveness of the son brings a lot of memories of her own father to mind. She can see so many parallels between Dalbert, Almer, her father and herself… The nostalgia is almost overwhelming. Finally, she tears her eyes away and heads back towards the wagon, hurrying a bit to keep up with the slowly darkening sky.

Once she makes it back, she finds her triumvirate standing around outside the front door of the wagon. Xaxiana is watching the Fate prepare their side of the field, Peyford is staring at the sky, and Manley is tapping his elbow impatiently.

“I just cannot believe that the Reader decides to vanish now of all times, of ALL times, to be gone somewhere.” The sap is as usual making his displeasure with the situation known. Thankfully, before he can carry on, Xaxiana turns her head and indicates the approaching Reader.

“Ah. There you are. Now, Reader, please do enlighten me as to why you went running off on some unknown errand a mere hour before we have a Rite to conduct, hmm?” Impatience is written all over the sap’s face.

She decides now is not the time to confront Manley about his own sneaking off. “Well, Manley. I decided to go stretch my legs and get a look at the surroundings before it gets dark. And while taking a walk I ran into an old cur who happened to be a member of the Fate, our opponents tonight. He… gave me this.” She reaches inside her cloak and takes out the crest she had been given. “He said it was to welcome me to the Rites, is that normally a custom?” She glances at Peyford for an answer but before the nomad can speak, Manley butts in between them.

“Ooooh, I see how it is. I see indeed, hmm...” He leans down to face the Reader. “What I see is that you’re sneaking off and making deals with other triumvirates now, are you? And here I thought that our little discussion about decision-making had been fruitful, but alas, you simply cannot cease stepping around me to make your own way, hmm?” He glares briefly at the Reader before standing at his full height again. “Well then? What did you offer them in return? A victory, perhaps?”

The Reader bites her lip, trying to keep herself from starting a fight.

“They asked for nothing.” She responds. “Of course, I can understand that the concept of generosity is unfamiliar to you, Manley. But, if you must know, they said it was a fairly common trinket, a courtesy gift, nothing else.”

At this point, Peyford chimes in. “From the looks of it, actually, that is a talisman.” The nomad adjusts his glasses and takes a closer look at the trinket in the Reader’s hand. “I’m no expert but it seems to hold a little bit of power. I’ve seen similar talismans which grant their bearer the ability to move faster in the Rites.”

The Reader’s eyes light up, already thinking how the talisman could be used in her strategy for the next Rite.

“Then I think you should have it, Peyford. We are going to need every advantage we can get for the next Rite and, after seeing two of the members from the Fate, I feel like speed might be a key part of their strategy. If we can make you somehow match them then-”

They are both surprised as Manley snatches the talisman from the Reader’s open palm. “Ohoh, well then. Even if it is not payment for a service, it stands to reason that the leader should accept any gifts on behalf of the triumvirate, does it not?”

The Reader balks at this development. First, she has to get over the extreme lack of respect; who just snatches a gift from someone’s hand like that? That’s beyond socialite power-play and just plain bullying. Second, she has to process what Manley is intending to do with that talisman… Surely he could not be intending to attempt an offensive strategy based on himself, does he?

“Look, Manley.” The Reader starts. “I don’t know what you’re planning to do with that but, unless the talisman has miraculous powers, I hardly think you’ll be able to compete with the speed of a cur. Peyford however-”

Manley interrupts her. “Oh-hoh. Surely you aren’t saying that a nomad and a cur are... _better_ than a sap, do you?” He glares back at the Reader.

“I’m simply saying that you can’t match them in speed. How is that so difficult to understand?” The Reader is starting to feel like she is losing her patience.

“Well.” Manley huffs as he clasps the brooch under his raiments. “Then allow me to show you how wrong you are.” Before anyone can raise any objections he starts moving towards the field. “Now come along, come along. We have a Rite to conduct, do we not?”

The Reader stays back, thinking about the situation they are currently in. She was considering giving Manley another opportunity during this Rite, but after witnessing his rude and self-centered behaviour, she is left with little option as to what to do. Getting her thoughts together, the Reader whips around and sprints into the blackwagon.

“Avrec! I need you to-” She stops mid-sentence as she spots the beggar slumped in a corner, wearing his ordinary clothes, and hugging a half-empty bottle. As he sees her at the door, the beggar calls out to her.

“Oi, Reader… C'mere, c'mere… Hic!” He motions with his hand for the Reader to approach him.

“Avrec! There is no time for this now! You have to participate in the Rites again, Manley has this hare-brained idea and I can’t let him-”

She gets interrupted by Avrec. “Ahhh yesh mishter stick... very nishe of him… to give me tis lovely drink...” He clumsily stands up. “But yesh… The magic gamesh…” As he tries to take a step forward he falls face-first onto the wagon’s floor before the Reader has time to catch him.

“A-Avrec!” She rushes towards him to check if he got hurt during the fall but finds him in a deep sleep instead. As she is crouching next to him, she can notice the smell of the beverage that he has been drinking. She doesn’t know what kind of liquor it is but she is sure that it would render anyone unconscious after drinking half a bottle. Frankly, she has to wonder how he is still alive after drinking that much. The Reader tries to put him in a more comfortable position and places a blanket over him before standing up, letting out a frustrated groan.

“Very clever, Manley. Very clever…” She mutters between her teeth, and with that, she slams the wagon’s door open and stomps back to the field, where her triumvirate is waiting for the Rite to start.

As she gets closer she notices Manley looking back at her. “Is there any problem, Reader dear?” The sap takes a moment to slowly lean down to the Reader’s level, meeting her eyes dead-on and speaking in a quiet tone. “You seem angry.” The smugness in the sap’s smile and voice leaves the Reader no doubts about his involvement in Avrec’s condition.

The Reader opens her mouth, about to unleash a cavalcade of accusations and insults towards the sap. But instead, she lets out a long breath and collects herself. She is not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her sink to the level of petty insults, especially not in front of the triumvirate.

“Oh no, there is not a problem at all… I was simply curious about how Avrec ended up in such an… inebriated state... so soon before the Rite.” She manages to squeeze out the implied accusation while avoiding grinding her teeth.

“Ooooh, but what a silly question dear Reader.” Manley gestures with his mask. “The beggar simply asked for a drink, and who am I to deny him? Why I simply figured he might appreciate something with a bit more kick to it, I can hardly be blamed that your kind is so highly affected by alcohol.” Manley theatrically clasps his mask on. “Either way, it is not like he was going to conduct this Rite, mhm?” Even with his mask on, she can tell that he is giving her a final defiant glare as he walks to stand in front of their sigil, silently declaring that the discussion is over. The Reader is left with little recourse other than to groan in exasperation as she stomps off the field.

“I’m going to soak your roots in alcohol, see how you like it.” She mutters to herself as she leaves. She already expects that she will not be able to give much guidance in the Rite if Manley is planning to do his own thing once again.

The Reader manages to retreat to a good overlook before the Fate arrives, and as such she can not hear what exactly the triumvirates say to each other before the Rite starts. Although she can infer from their body language that Dalbert is being polite and Manley is doing his usual thing. Then, an outburst from Almer breaks up the conversation and the two parties retreat to their respective ends of the field. She looks up, and finally sees the stars align above the Cairn of Ha’ub.

…

“Reader!”

Once more, the Voice bursts into her mind.

“You are gathered tonight, at the accursed Cairn of Ha’ub. Here, your opponents will be... The Fate!”

As the Voice speaks, the Reader lets her view slowly return to the field, and she is suddenly in awe of the sight. What used to be a dreary boneyard has somehow come alive under the light of the stars. The previously dull crystalline structures are now glowing in clear blues and greens, illuminating the field even before the pyres have lit themselves. But what really stuns her is the figure looming over it all. The bones of the great titan Shax Six-Shoulders, previously inert on the ground, now seem to possess an unnatural life. Fragments of bone, petrified by the passing of the ages, have now lifted into the air, as the bone titan’s skull silently screams at the stars aligned above it, directing an eternity of fury at the Scribes as they gather to witness the Rite.

Finally, the Reader manages to tear her eyes from the spectacle and pay attention to the figures below her. She recognises Dalbert and Almer among the Fate, with the cur taking the leader’s position in the triumvirate. She is surprised by the old cur’s generosity and courtesy now that she has confirmed that he is the triumvirate’s leader, and wonders if that is the conduct which the Scribes had envisioned for the participants in the Rites.

“I see that your triumvirate has once more dropped to the appropriate number of members.” The Voice once more chimes in. “Doubtless your newest cohort found the company of those such as yourselves far too irksome.”

While the jab is a bit low, the Reader does note that the Voice appears unaware that Avrec is still present in the wagon. Is this because he is not on the field, or because he has not donned the raiments?… She pushes the question aside and looks to the field. The light is already gathering and the orb will fall any second now.

“Begin!”

As the Rite commences, the Reader sees Manley beginning to move forward. Figuring that addressing him will be a waste of time, she instead directs her attention towards Peyford and Xaxiana to make a plan.

<I don’t know what Manley expects to do, but I won’t be able to do anything about it at this point.> She sighs internally as she seems to notice Peyford nodding to himself at this statement. <So this is not a good strategy, but I am going to need you two to be ready to act the moment he gets himself banished.>

By then, Manley has made his way near the center of the field. The Reader makes a note that Dalbert is behaving far more carefully than Barker had. Rather than sprinting for the Chastity’s backline, he is ducking between cover, letting loose long-distance aura blasts towards Manley. While this means that the sap manages to project his sapling and set up a perimeter around the orb, that is where his offensive hits a wall. Once Manley has picked up the orb, he is rendered unable to advance his sapling further, and as it turns out, the talisman has not made him fast enough to outrun Dalbert, not to mention his inability to jump across Almer who is guarding the pyre.

<Manley. Throw the orb to the ground and stand still so Peyford can come forward.> The Reader decides to attempt to give the sap a piece of advice. However, the advice is promptly ignored, as Manley instead takes a few steps forward and does a weak underhand lob towards the Fate’s pyre. The slow throw is easily caught by Almer, who quickly passes the orb forward to his father down at the other end of the field. The Reader can only watch as Manley turns around and starts creeping his way back across the Rite field, his continued movement prohibiting his partners from moving to stop Dalbert. A few moments later, she sees the cur leap over Xaxiana and land in the Chastity’s pyre, dousing it slightly.

“Dalbert gloriously douses the flame!”

Already spotting a pattern, the Reader settles in for a repeat of their performance against the Dissidents. That is not to say that she gives up, of course.

<Aura cast from the left!> She tries to warn Manley, with mixed results.

As usual, she notes that any time she gives him a warning, the sap wastes time confirming the threat rather than acting immediately, getting him banished more than once. At least she is pleased to see the other two members acting rather responsively. Any time Manley is banished, the two of them leap into action, mounting a few promising offensives. Sadly, apart from a couple fast attacks, they don’t manage to finish any of the maneuvers before Manley returns and halts his teammates’ actions by centering the attention on himself.

Any time that her triumvirate is incapable of acting, the Reader turns her focus to their opponents, the Fate. She is pretty impressed by the cooperation between Almer and Dalbert, and any time she sees the two of them act in unison she feels as if she is getting a better sense of how the Rites are meant to be conducted. However, she also notes that they both seem notably less effective when not supported by the other. It appears that there is a fine line between a bond of trust, and a bond of reliance when it comes to performance in the Rites. It is in the vulnerable moments when either Almer or Dalbert are banished that the Chastity manages to squeeze in their few successful attacks.

“How much do you believe that these exiles are worthy of liberation, Reader?” The Voice prompts her in between rounds. “Have you asked yourself why those who conduct the Rites on your behalf are here? Asked yourself if they truly deserve their freedom more than those they face?” He pauses to let the question sink in. When he continues, his tone is far more derisive. “...Does Manley truly deserve his station in society?”

The Reader stops to think as the Rite continues on beneath her. She truly had not considered why her companions are exiled. That is, beyond what Avrec had told her the day they picked him up. The Voice has singled out Manley… and the Rite she is currently watching is really making her question who here deserves their freedom. The arrogant sap who listens to no-one, or the father and son who deeply care about each other, and respect the tradition they are participating in? It may be premature to judge without knowing why either of them are here, but the answer seems clear at first sight.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the Chastity’s pyre being struck. As she looks up, the Reader sees Almer disappear into the fire, before the flames sputter and die out.

“And so, it ends! The Fate prevails and upholds the values inherent in this tradition. The Chastity however, will have to continue learning from their mistakes.”

...

The Reader lets out a sigh. She hopes that she did not miss much of an opportunity to turn the Rite around by zoning out. Really, with Manley asserting himself this harshly she is wondering if she will have any impact on future Rites. She groans and watches the triumvirate leaders exchange some form of pleasantries again. While she cannot hear them properly at this distance, the cur appears as courteous as before, while Manley curtly nods and walks off the field, followed by the other two participants.

The Reader waits a while, wondering if she should bother putting in the effort to stand up. After all, it’ll likely be another session of derision and insults from Manley, and disappointment from her other partners. While she is sitting on the ground she sees Dalbert passing next to her on the way to his wagon. He stops and stares at the Reader with a contemplative look on his face.

“It seems that the Scribes have smiled upon us this eve.” He bows his head. “Farewell, Reader of the Chastity. May the Scribes smile upon you as well.”

The Reader bows her head in return and Dalbert continues towards the Fate’s wagon. She looks back at her triumvirate and sighs as she gathers enough strength to head down to meet them. When she joins them, Manley turns and tosses the talisman back to her. Caught off guard, she barely manages to catch it.

“It appears you were tricked, Reader. Your trinket did nothing.” Manley huffs. “You got my hopes up and once again I was disappointed. But, with another loss, I will temper such expectations in the future I suppose.” He then strides into the wagon without another word.

The Reader looks after him, her anger after tonight’s Rite slowly turning into sadness. Her eyes drift from the wagon, to the talisman in her hand, to Xaxiana and Peyford. She realizes that, while they are both looking a bit sour as well, their emotions appear directed towards Manley rather than her.

Peyford steps up and puts a hand on her shoulder. “We still appreciate the effort Reader… we can tell how hard you are trying.” He looks to Xaxiana who nods in agreement. The two then head towards the wagon. The Reader however, stays where she is, staring at the sky. Peyford turns in the wagon’s doorway. “Reader, don’t stay out for too long.”

She looks over at him, forcing a smile. “Of course. I’ll be in once I’ve read the stars.”

He nods at her and steps into the wagon as the Reader looks back at the skies. Yet, it is not the next Rite what she is looking for. Instead, she seeks each of the Scribes’ stars in turn and clasps her hands together, lowering her head. She’s never done much prayer in her life, but there may be a first time for everything.

“Scribes… in case you are watching… I have not asked for help in the past but… maybe reading is not enough… Please tell me, what can I do to put us on the right path?...”

She lifts her head and scans the slowly brightening sky.

The stars are silent except for the brightest one, Milithe the Bog star, who is pointing her towards the location of the next Rite. If the Scribes ignored her prayers or if this is their way to tell her that she must press on, she can’t tell.


	11. Shattered Hope

As the Blackwagon rumbles into Flagging Hands, the Reader still can not dispel the sinking feeling she has had since the end of the last Rite... The words of the Voice were the thing nagging her the most. Why had her companions truly been exiled? Do they deserve their freedom? Her eyes drift around the wagon as they tend to do while she ponders, and her view falls on Avrec for a moment. The Reader feels confident that she knows the beggar’s past. He has no reason to lie to them to begin with, and his story, honestly, hadn’t been self-flattering enough for him to have made it up. Similarly, her eyes only briefly linger on Xaxiana. That a harp had been exiled by the Commonwealth did not surprise her in the least, especially so in light of her dark sense of humor and eagerness to suggest killing as a solution to problems. She must have been a soldier who fought against the Commonwealth, and who was subsequently exiled when she ended up captured in some way. Those two are not giving her much to worry about, no. What takes up most of her thoughts are the two other triumvirate members.

The Reader glances towards Manley, but does not let her gaze linger on him for long. Manley’s mannerisms and attitude towards her has given her a fairly good idea of why he might have been deemed a criminal by the Commonwealth, and the more she sees of him, the more certain she is about her guess regarding the reasons for his exile. Arrogance and threats would eventually make anyone an enemy of the wrong people, and having the wrong enemies in the Commonwealth could have given him a fast pass to the Downside. However, while the Reader can make an educated guess as to why Manley had been exiled, she is completely at a loss when thinking about Peyford. She extensively looks at the orderly nomad, observing the details of his suit and attitude. He is well composed, appears to be fairly kind and considerate, and all in all he gives next to no hint about what he may have been exiled for. The Reader has so little to go on, that it is likely that he was set up for a trivial crime, as the idea that he might have done something horrid seems kind of absurd.

At this point she has been looking at him for quite a while, and Peyford finally looks up and meets her eyes. Realizing that she had been staring, the Reader quickly looks away, embarrassed. The next moment she can hear Manley sighing loudly from the other end of the wagon, presumably at the silent exchange of looks, and she ducks behind her book to avoid further embarrassement.

Really, all this thinking about exiles and motives just keeps bringing her back to her past in the Commonwealth and the circumstances of her own exile… how unlucky it had been… how unfair it still felt to her. After all, she had just wanted to carry on quietly without upsetting anyone, living on her father’s inheritance while figuring out what to do with her future. She had for a while considered following in her father’s footsteps as an astrologer, but in the end she had decided against it. Mainly, it had been the pressure of following after someone of his stature, even though his reputation and contacts among the upper Commonwealth would have made her entry into that job fairly easy. Additionally, she had been bothered by a trend of scholars and similarly educated people being exposed as being secretly literate, and subsequently exiled. However, this second reason had not been a major worry. After all, those scholars had been accused of planning insurrection, or being enemies of the Commonwealth, and she did not hold any such thoughts.

Thus, when the Commonwealth officers had suddenly burst into her house and searched it, she had been as shocked as them when they had uncovered a hidden storeroom full of books. While she had learnt to read during her childhood, she had suddenly stopped practicing it completely after her father requested her to do so on his deathbed. For several years she had moved through her life in that way, pretending to be just another illiterate high class lady, up until the fateful day of the raid on her house. Regrettably, with as undeniable evidence as a secret storeroom of books, there had been no point in trying to deny her own literacy. She was accused of harboring sympathies for insurgents and the trial had been quick. The Reader shakes her head and pushes those thoughts aside, returning her attention to the book as the wagon rolls along.

A while later, they stop for a bit in order to let the drive-imps rest and eat. The Reader hurries to her feet, eager to explore the new area. “I’m going to see if I can forage up some useful plants.” She announces as the rest of the triumvirate steps outside.

Peyford lightly taps her shoulder in response. “Just don’t move far away, and keep the wagon in sight. The foliage is deceptively thick.”

The Reader nods before turning to survey the surroundings. It’s… a bog, to be sure. But if you know where to look, bogs can hold some highly interesting flora. The Reader grabs a basket from the wagon, takes a deep breath, and carefully starts treading across what solid ground there is.

While she had thought that the heat of Jomuer Valley had been unpleasant, the Reader would take it a hundred times over the oppressive atmosphere of Flagging Hands, where the bogs constantly assault her senses with new and unpleasant smells. Moreover, she never realized how much she would miss the sun before it decided to hide behind the constantly overcast sky of the swamp. It is as if the very location dislikes their presence and wishes for them to leave. The Reader now understands why the triumvirate had collectively groaned when she shared the location of the next Rite.

Unpleasantness aside though, she had been correct about the flora. While she wouldn’t be putting any of what she found into her mouth, the Reader has managed to collect an interesting collection of fungus, lichen, moss, and a few herbs. As she makes a narrow circuit around the wagon, the Reader starts pondering why Manley has not said anything else to her since the last Rite. She can’t really draw any conclusions, but perhaps he is starting to realize that it is not her fault that they are having these setbacks. One can hope...

Having finished her circuit, the Reader heads back towards the wagon. As she approaches it, she spots Peyford and Manley standing at a corner, engaged in some form of intense discussion. Curious, she sets her basket of plants down and stalks up closer to them in order to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“-and I am telling you why, Peyford. It is simply disappointment after disappointment. Frankly, I don’t think that my decision is premature at all, not at all.” Manley’s voice reaches her first. “Just look at it. We have conducted three Rites, and failed in two of them. I am starting to have a sneaking suspicion that she is trying to undermine the triumvirate on purpose. To start with, she forced me, ME, out of a Rite, which was likely an attempt to make us fail.” The sap tuts. “I suppose that she got unlucky that the beggar was actually halfway competent...” He clears his throat before continuing. “Anyway, if that wasn’t enough, then she sneaks off before a Rite to make some obscure deal with the leader of the Fate and right after that, we lose. It sounds a bit too coincidental, hmm?”

There is a brief silence before Peyford speaks up.

“Manley. The problem with your decision is not that it is premature, it’s that it is wrong. Accusing the Reader of deliberately undermining the triumvirate is about as far from a reasoned conclusion I’ve ever heard you arrive at, which may be saying something...” The tension between them is palpable as Peyford pauses for a moment. “The Reader is diligent, quick to learn, and outspoken. The last quality may get on your nerves, Manley, but it is categorically a poor reason to advocate for her removal from the triumvirate. If you were to take a moment to stop searching for reasons to be offended, perhaps you would start seeing her as a valuable member, rather than a convenient scapegoat for your own failures.”

The Reader has to suppress a shocked gasp as the realization hits her. Are they talking about kicking her out of the triumvirate?!

“Oh why-! Well! It appears that I was mistaken to engage in such an important conversation while in such miserable conditions!” Manley makes a noise as if he’s stepped in something unpleasant. “Frankly, I am seriously beginning to question your judgement in this matter, Peyford. Taking into account the way you’ve been acting with the Reader, the way you two look at each other in the wagon, and now this stalwart defense of her actions... I can’t fathom why I expected a reasoned opinion from you here!” He pauses for a moment, continuing with a calmer tone. “On a… related note, how attached are you to your position on the triumvirate, Peyford?” There is another short but tense silence. “If you find my leadership so disagreeable, you are fully welcome to take your leave for a bit, perhaps alongside the Reader. I’m certain that you would be welcome in the Chastity again once I am liberated, hmm?”

Peyford immediately bites back, his tone getting more sharp.

“Truly, Manley? You question _my_ judgement, and then throw an insinuating threat in my face? I fear this bog has not only impaired your decision making, but also your basic sense. If you were to attempt to remove either myself or the Reader, you would have an uphill battle, as I am convinced you are in a minority in your opinion.” Peyford lets out an exasperated sigh. “I believe there is no possible way you could have put this suggestion to me which would have made me consider it reasonable, and the manner in which you just put it makes me tempted to respond in kind. Hopefully, I don’t need to remind you that you are not the only one capable of pulling strings in the Commonwealth, Manley.”

At this point the Reader has heard enough and quickly sneaks away before she is found out. Once back at her basket she slumps to the ground and briefly buries her face in her knees. She can’t believe this. She is at risk of being removed from the triumvirate, cast out into the Downside with no hope of returning home again. On top of that, if she tries to stay, she may cause trouble for the rest of the triumvirate if they try to defend her… She can’t let the triumvirate be torn apart by that sort of conflict… Maybe she can do something if she just pushes herself harder, what else can she really do?

The Reader stands up and wipes herself off before picking up her basket of plants again. She circles around to avoid running into Manley and Peyford. Around the back of the wagon, she comes across Xaxiana keeping watch.

“Reader.” The harp nods at her. “Find anything useful?”

“Oh, actually… I managed to find quite a few unique plants.” The Reader gladly accepts the chance to think about something else. “I can’t really tell which ones are useful or not… The Downside flora is completely different from what I grew at home in the Commonwealth. I still managed to collect something based on general botanical traits, you know, how does a medicinal plant usually look and such...“ She offers the basket for Xaxiana to take a look at.

The harp leans down to look at the plants, humming curiously. “You found quite a few good ones here. Like these two are good for treating wounds.” She indicates a pair of mosses. “The other ones we can either sell for sol or find some other use for. Your botanical traits seem to have served you pretty well.”

The Reader nods appreciatively at the harp, smiling faintly. It seems like she can at least do something right... She then bids a good evening to Xaxiana and heads back into the wagon, where she just barely manages to avoid bumping into Peyford.

“Oh, Reader.” He steps aside to let the Reader pass with her basket. “How did the foraging go?”

“Quite well…” She answers rather curtly. “I’m going to get some rest.”

But before she can escape into the wagon’s sleeping quarters, Peyford gently grabs her by the shoulder.

“Are you doing alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She avoids meeting his eyes, not wanting to give away her current conflicted state.

Peyford sighs heavily in return. “Flagging Hands is a unique kind of miserable, just so you know... It can crush your spirit and shatter your hopes if you’re not careful. Try not to push yourself more than necessary.”

The Reader just weakly nods in response and heads to her bed. As she lies there, staring at the ceiling, she tries to come up with a plan for how to make sure she stays in the triumvirate. While nothing immediately comes to mind, there is one thing she is absolutely certain of.

They can not lose the next Rite.


	12. Dread Design

For the remainder of the trip towards the next celestial landmark, the Reader barely moves at all. She spends her time sitting at the common room table, book held firmly in her hands, and eyes darting across its pages. Except… her view is vacant, and the pages flip back and forth randomly, with no clear purpose or hint to what she is looking for.

She knows that she should be researching the next landmark. She knows that she should try to acquaint herself with the triumvirates which may oppose them. By the Scribes, she knows that she should be dismantling every word in the book for a solution to her current problem but… Does it even matter?

As she keeps flipping through the book, repeating the same pages over and over again, her mind keeps replaying every bad realization she has had over the last few days. She is… powerless, really. That became clear to her after seeing that there is no way for her to keep Manley from doing what he always does… And if he does what he always does, they will lose again… And if they lose again, she will be blamed and expelled from the triumvirate. So… Does it all even matter? Should she even bother to put so much effort into this? What is she even struggling for, in the end? To liberate Manley? What a laughable goal…

The Reader can feel a dull pain at the back of her head as a voice starts creeping into her consciousness. Except, this was not the voice which spoke to her during the Rites, but a far more familiar one…

 _“You’re not good enough to follow in your father’s footsteps”_ it said after her father died…

 _“You’re not good enough for the Commonwealth”_ it said during her sentencing…

 _“You’re not good enough for the Scribes”_ it was saying now...

She frowns. That voice is coming from deep inside of her, and here in the Downside, it seems to be louder.

_“After all, aren’t the Rites the way the Scribes have to deem someone worthy of their favor?”_

The Reader lowers her head onto the table. If the Scribes didn’t even seem to listen to her prayers, why would they favor her in the Rites?

_“Just give up. So what if you end up leaving the triumvirate? You won’t have to worry about anything anymore.”_

She wouldn’t have to deal with the drama of her cohorts, just keep herself alive… Though, would she be able to do that?

_“Just close your eyes. Nothing is worth the effort. Close your eyes and let the Downside take care of you.”_

Maybe that is a good piece of advice. She had not really slept properly since the last Rite… Her head is starting to hurt and her eyes feel heavy... Maybe it would just be better to close them and let things go as they may. She sighs quietly as her eyelids begin to feel heavier and heavier...

“...Reader?”

After what feels like only a moment, the Reader slowly lifts her head as she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Reader!”

Right in front of her is Peyford, his gray eyes looking right into hers, a worried expression covering his face.

“Everything is ready for the Rite and Manley is getting prepared to greet our opponents…”

The Reader shakes her head, trying to clear the drowsy fog out of her mind. Had she missed the wagon stopping? The night falling? She jolts upright, staggering slightly as her vision darkens for a second.

“Y-yes… the Rite. I’ll be out in a moment.” She mumbles, picking up the book with some effort.

Peyford’s expression grows more concerned.

“Perhaps you should sit this one out, Reader.” He gently puts a hand on the Reader’s shoulder, guiding her back into the chair.

“I am not doubting your abilities, it is just…” He glances out the door. “We know our opponents for tonight, the triumvirate known as the Withdrawn.” The nomad shivers, but immediately regains his composure.

“They are a cult-like triumvirate lead by Witch Udmildhe, a bog-crone. She… did not earn the title Witch for nothing. While it is forbidden by the rules of the Rites for her to harm any of us physically, she may be bold enough to attempt to curse you if she realizes that you’re vulnerable.” He gives her a stern look. “I wouldn’t want you to risk that sort of harm.”

The Reader suddenly springs to her feet, clearly catching Peyford off guard. She looks at the orderly nomad with a determined expression, saying nothing. Sit out a Rite? Now of all times? What happens to her is inconsequential, but she cannot let others suffer because of that. Peyford has not done anything to deserve her just giving up on him like that.

“No, I’m fine, Peyford. I’ll do my job in the Rite.”

The Reader picks up the book and quickly makes her way out of the wagon. She can hear Peyford sigh, but he does not stop her.

The two of them hurry down to the Pit of Milithe, where the Rite will be conducted. As they descend, the Reader’s discomfort keeps growing the farther they get from the murky skies of Flagging Hands. The walls of the pit do not seem to be natural. Green ichor drips from gashes where great iron chains have been struck through what looks like otherworldly white skin. Sharp, teeth-like protrusions emerge out of random crevices, and the Reader can not shake the feeling that she is descending into the proverbial yet simultaneously literal ‘belly of the beast’.

When they finally reach the field prepared for the Rite, the Reader feels her vision darken for a moment once again. It is not clear if from exhaustion or from the sheer incomprehensibility of what she is looking at. Her mind initially tells her that she is looking at some sort of deceased being looming over the field of the Rite. Yet, at the same time, she refuses to acknowledge that a form so grotesque, so abhorrently unnatural, could exist and at one time have been alive, even in the Downside.

Feeling dizzy, she averts her eyes and focuses them on the field of the Rite. Even the ground seems diseased, with strange pustules of flesh growing in the middle of a perfectly clean circle of protective runes. The Reader cannot help but wonder why they are conducting a Rite in such a clearly hostile and profane environment.

She settles in at the least uncomfortable spot that she can find while still having an overview of the field, and watches as the two triumvirates greet each other. The Withdrawn appear composed of a snake-like creature, colloquially known as a bog-crone, and two common folks.

The Reader briefly regards the two latter ones. Going by the fact that they are in a cult, and the way they carry themselves, they are what the Commonwealth would label as ‘savages’, people who have trouble adapting to regular social expectations. She imagines that the same label could apply to Almer of the Fate, as well as their own Avrec. Considering her observations of the Rites so far, she can expect them to be reckless, fast, and capable of leaping far distances. All in all, dangerous opponents. Then, her musings are interrupted as the bog-crone starts speaking.

“Foolishhh ssap. Ye dare to face usss, at the resting place of the Astral-Born. Know that a flame such as yoursss shall not protect ye from his influence.”

It is a shrill hiss that reaches the Reader’s ears, setting her hair on end. Before Manley says anything, the witch Udmildhe raises her gnarled arms towards the hideous form looming over the field.

“Hear usss, Yslach! Make these short-sighted fools sssuffer!”

As the Reader glances over at Manley, she realizes that the sap appears perfectly content with keeping his mouth shut and mask firmly clasped to avoid engaging with the raving witch. However, she has to do a double take as she sees Avrec casually swaggering up past Manley, twirling his mask in his hand.

“Oi! Ya old hag! What’cha doin’ screamin’ at a dead thing like it’s ye boyfriend or somethin’? If ya like it so much why don’t ya marry it? Hahah! Am I right fellas?”

Avrec turns to grin at the rest of the Chastity, at which point he realizes that the other three members have backed away to behind their pyre.

“E-ey, why’re you all standin’ so far back?”

He has however, caught the attention of Udmildhe, who slowly turns her head and raises her hands to her mask, giving the Reader her first ever close-up look of a bog-crone.

A pale, sunken face pokes out of the folds of the crone’s covering raiments. Glowing yellow eyes stare at Avrec from under a writhing mass of smaller snakes, taking the place where hair would grow on any ordinary humanoid. Finally, adorning her head is a set of uneven orange antlers, lending the witch an overall frightening and chaotic look. Taking this all into account, the Reader is not put at ease by the maddened cadence of her voice.

“Foolishhh. Ye blaspheme, and Yslach remembers! He will consume ye, and all ye hold dear ere we’ve snuffed out your pathetic flame! That, we shhall ensure!”

She then turns away from the beggar and slithers back towards her side of the field. Halfway there, she stops and whips her head around, staring directly at the Reader with her burning yellow eyes. The Reader instinctually ducks down out of sight, only peeking out again as Avrec speaks.

“Eeeh… how ‘bout I skip this one, eh folks?” He sheepishly points to the way out of the pit. “See ya at the wagon! Ye all have fun!”

Before anyone can object, the beggar has made his way out of the pit. The Reader sighs, she guesses that that is one less decision for her to make tonight. Finally, she looks up to the sky, where the stars begin to align.

…

“I see you made it through Flagging Hands, Reader!”

The Voice bursts in as usual. In her slightly delirious state, the Reader is almost certain that she can hear a note of surprise in his voice.

“You travelled all the way here, to the detestable Pit of Milithe. Of course, your presence here has disturbed the ancient triumvirate known as the Withdrawn. How will you match up against that deranged Udmildhe of theirs?” The Voice leaves room for her to ponder the question. “Now, while I would usually expect a shameful performance from those such as you, I at least hope that you make it out unscathed.”

_“What does it matter if you get out unharmed? You’ll be alone anyways.”_

Now, back on her own, the Reader finds herself struggling with two voices competing for attention in her head. She squeezes her eyes shut to try and regain her focus. She has to perform well, she has to prove herself… she has to be allowed to stay.

“Poof goes Manley.” The Voice comments with an amused tone as Manley gets banished out of nowhere.

The Reader’s eyes snap open. The orb already fell? The Rite has already started? She watches dumbfounded as Xaxiana tackles one of the savages before signalling for Peyford to go forward. He acts quickly, but as he sprints ahead, the Reader sees Udmildhe let loose a wide-arching aura blast, covering the entire area in front of him.

<P-Peyford jump!>

She blurts out in her mind. The nomad realizes the danger, jumping into the air at the last second… at which point Udmildhe pounces with shocking speed and knocks him to the ground and into her lingering aura.

“Oof!” The Voice almost seems to sympathise with the poor luck.

_“How did you not predict that? You should have told him to back off, not jump.”_

The Reader tries to push aside all the noise in her head to focus on the Rite. Xaxiana is the only conductor remaining on their side, and Manley is taking even longer than usual to return from his banishment. The harp is still incredibly agile, and does an admirable job of keeping herself away from the Withdrawn. However, when attempting to take to the air she too is rapidly knocked to the ground by another fierce pounce by the witch. With no opposition remaining, the bog-crone quickly grabs the orb and slithers into the Chastity’s pyre with an unsettling hiss.

“Witch Udmildhe douses the Chastity’s pyre!” The Voice exclaims.

_“You can’t help them, there is no way you can lead them to victory.”_

The Reader shakes her head furiously.

“Just leave me alone!” She growls to herself. “Let me focus on the Rite so I at least have a chance to make a difference!”

The next few rounds are a back and forth. Any time the Withdrawn are down one member, the Chastity manages some unrefined, but ultimately successful dousings against their opponents. Yet, every time the Withdrawn strikes the Chastity’s pyre, the Reader feels more strength leaving her. The voices keep assaulting her mind, the walls of the pit seem to be closing in around her, and, every time she looks up at the stars for relief, her view drifts past that hideous thing in the background.

Soon, her head starts to pound and her focus slips even further. As her attention weakens, so do the last efforts of the Chastity. Manley seems to have lost all will to do anything, remaining in place for his triumvirate to do their work. Also, without the Reader’s guidance, Peyford’s performance starts to suffer. She can see him having trouble keeping track of the orb at a distance, as well as being obstructed by clearly visible objects on the field. His major problem appears to be some sickening green pools of unknown yet clearly unnatural origin, which both hinder his aura and his movement.

It does not take long before the Chastity’s pyre falters, the witch herself triumphantly leaping into the flame and snuffing it out in a sickly green cloud of smoke.

“And it is done!” The Voice announces. “The Withdrawn prevail, furthering their dark designs...”

The Reader does not know if the Voice has anything to say about the Chastity.

The world darkens before her eyes, and she slumps to the ground.


	13. Strange Voyage

Slowly, the Reader’s eyes open again. She has no sense of how long she has been out for, or of where she is. The first thought in her mind is that she must have been removed from the triumvirate… Surely her performance in the Rite must have given them enough reason to do so.

She blinks a few times, trying to clear the blurry mist from her eyes. Soon enough, she realizes that she is looking at the ceiling of the blackwagon. In fact, she is lying in her own bed. Confused, the Reader looks around. It is indeed the Chastity’s blackwagon. The biggest hint to that conclusion is the fact that Manley is lying down in another bed near her…

She rubs her eyes in disbelief. Now she has to wonder what happened after she passed out. Did the Withdrawn attack them? Did the triumvirate turn on Manley and knock him out as well? She quickly dismisses the latter thought as she cannot imagine Peyford advocating violence even if he disagrees with a decision. With a groan, the Reader sits up and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, trying to stretch her stiff body.

“I see that you’re finally awake…”

The Reader jumps in surprise as Manley speaks.

“I… suppose I am?” She awkwardly coughs, still confused about the situation. “So...What happened? After the Rite, I mean.”

Manley lets out a long sigh before looking up at the ceiling and starting to explain.

“What happened is that, after the Rite ended, we realized that you weren’t following us back to the wagon, so we went looking for you, of course.” He waves a hand. “Then we found you lying on the floor, unconscious, and Peyford immediately gave me an earful of blame!” The sap groans. “He said that you had not felt up for conducting the Rite but insisted on participating anyways.” He then frowns and continues in a lower tone. “All because of the pressure I’d been putting on you, apparently...”

The Reader notes that, while he sounded a bit offended at the accusation, Manley seems to be conceding that Peyford probably had a point there.

She scratches her head. “So… why are you in bed?” She has to satisfy her curiosity. “Did you get attacked by the Withdrawn or...?”

“Oh but-! That’s ridiculous, Reader!” The sap lets out another exhausted groan, as if just thinking about it makes his condition worse.

“The answer is much simpler than that, you see? When I looked at the stars for the location of the next Rite, we were directed towards the Hulk of Ores.” He frowns. “I… suppose you can verify that yourself tonight…” His voice sinks to a grumble. “I am going to regret it so badly if I made a mistake… I despise travelling by boat.”

The Reader blinks at that statement, taking a moment to process it.

“Wait, we’re on a… boat!?”

She springs out of her bed, rushing over to the nearest window to peek out. Indeed, it appears that Manley is telling the truth. Even though the wagon still looks the same inside, outside the window stretches a vast expanse of black water, occasionally interrupted by rocky reefs and what looks like bare masts of long-sunken ships. It’s not a pretty sight but… it is so different. She has never been on a boat before, and now that she is standing up she realizes that the floor is gently rocking back and forth under her feet.

“Well, at least someone is happy about it…” Manley mutters out. “I’ll tell you Reader, sea travel is torturous for a sap of delicate senses such as myself.” The Reader tempers her excitement, stepping over to have a seat next to Manley’s bed as he continues whining. “The floor keeps shifting, the air is so salty it feels like I’m drying out, and worst of all, there is no soil for miles on end!”

It appears that the sap is still quite capable of feeling self-pity though. Upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that he really is not feeling well. When he speaks there is none of the usual effusive gesturing, and she can swear that his hair looks less springy than usual. In addition to that, there is a cloth draped over his face, as if he had a fever, though the Reader supposes that that may be more for hydration purposes. It is a… familiar scene. It brings to her mind the last few days of her father’s life, where she spent days on end taking care of him.

Seeing how Manley has nothing more to complain about, the Reader tries to think of something else that can keep the conversation going. While nothing immediately relevant comes to mind, there is something that she feels she needs to get off her chest, though she is a bit unsure about how to bring it up to the sap.

“I... thought you hated me...” She awkwardly starts. “And that you were looking for a reason to remove me from the triumvirate.” The Reader sadly smiles. “I… honestly figured I’d be out after the loss against the Withdrawn...”

Manley glances at her before returning his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh by the roots of Lu Sclorian! What sort of monster must you think I am to expel you after something like that?” The Reader makes a face, but says nothing as the sap continues. “Your… dedication to the Rites and the triumvirate is… admirable, I suppose. Especially in light of how…” He coughs awkwardly and mumbles something barely intelligible. “... Difficult I’ve been making things for you.”

The Reader squints at him. Is he… praising her? Was that an attempt at an apology? The Reader reflexively places her hand on Manley’s forehead. Surely he must be quite sick, for him to act this out of sorts. As she notices Manley’s incredulous look, she quickly withdraws her hand, realizing that such a gesture may not be the best way to tell if a sap is feeling unwell. She did notice, however, that the cloth on his face was practically dry, so she lifts it off and goes over to a nearby bucket to soak it in water.

“Reader?...” Manley mumbles, looking at her as she walks away. “I rather need that, you know?...”

“It’s for hydration… right?” She comes back, gently patting the wet cloth over his face before putting it back over his forehead. “It was completely dry, and you seemed a bit too weak to go deal with it yourself.”

The Reader then realizes that Manley is staring at her with the most confused expression she has ever seen him make.

“R-reader? What do you intend with this?”

He stumbles on his words, but it is clear that Manley is… almost shocked by the gesture and she cannot help but wonder if that is how he always reacts to spontaneous kindness.

The Reader responds carefully. “I’m intending to help out…” She pauses for a moment. “By the Scribes, what monster must you think I am to not help a sick person?” An echo of the sap’s previous comment. “So…does it feel better?”

Manley stares at her for a few more moments before coughing and looking away. “It is a bit of an improvement, yes.”

The Reader gives him a small smile. She is starting to wonder if her attitude might have been a bit too hostile, for him to see her as someone incapable of being kind. She then sits back down and speaks quietly. “I realize that I have not been the most friendly person lately so… thank you for letting me stay with you.”

At this Manley appears visibly startled, trying to sit up and giving her the most incredulous look. The Reader, surprised by the reaction, quickly elaborates.

“I-I mean, thank you for letting me remain in the triumvirate, and for giving me a second chance… despite my performance and… confrontational attitude?” She leaves a small question mark hanging at the end of the statement. While she still feels mostly justified in her reactions toward Manley, she can see why acting in such a way likely just widened the gap between the two of them.

“Ah… ahem, but of course.” Manley clears his throat, lying down again. “Think nothing of it, Reader. Honestly, you scratch my back, I scratch yours… I’m sure you’re aware of the saying. Just keep it in mind for the future, mhm?” He glances at her before squeezing his eyes shut. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I need some rest.”

The Reader nods, sitting quietly at the edge of her bed, idly looking around the wagon and collecting her thoughts. Perhaps Manley is not as unreasonable as he appears, if you manage to punch through the elaborate nobleman act. Certainly, getting along with him would be more beneficial than continuing to feud with him, both for the sake of staying in the triumvirate, as well as keeping her other companions from getting in trouble.

She is quickly yanked out of her ponderings as the boat suddenly shakes violently from some sort of impact, almost sending her tumbling to the floor.

“Oh by Sclorian’s untrimmed beard, will this torture never cease?!”

Manley manages to complain loudly even in his weakened state. At the same time, after regaining her balance, the Reader reaches for her cloak and heads towards the door that leads outside the sleeping quarters.

“Reader? Where are you going?” Manley calls out, supporting himself on his elbow and looking after her.

“I should check what’s happened and see if I’m needed. We can’t have us sinking now, can we?”

Manley simply stares silently at her for a moment and the Reader has to wonder if he was actually enjoying her company. She shakes her head and discards the thought before making her way outside onto the deck of the former wagon.

As she steps out, she spots the rest of the triumvirate, all gathered around the prow of the boat looking at something. She opens her mouth to ask what is going on, but before she can get a proper word out, she finds herself caught in a sudden bear-hug, squeezing all the air from her lungs.

“Aaah! Yer awake lass!” She can hear Avrec calling right next to her ear, enlightening her to the source of the hug. “Ye’ve been out fer several days now! We were worried sick!”

“Avrec… I… can’t breathe…” The Reader manages a quiet squeak, still unable to catch her breath as Peyford turns to look at the commotion.

“Oh, Reader. I’m glad you’re awake and healthy.” He smiles, seemingly relieved.

“Told you she hadn’t been cursed.” Xaxiana nudges the orderly nomad in the ribs. “Though she might not be awake for much longer at this rate.” She gives the beggar a piercing look. “Hey Avrec! Let her breathe!”

He quickly lets go of the Reader, taking a step back. “Ach, sorry lass. Just got a bit excited yaknow?” He apologetically starts patting her head and brushing off the Reader’s clothes. In response, she raises her hands to assure him everything is fine, while taking a deep breath.

“Ahem!”

A new, much more high-pitched voice breaks through the happy mood.

“If you’re done shouting and hugging, could we get back to the question of my property?”

The entire triumvirate turns to once more look at the source of the voice, and the Reader moves up to get her own look at the speaker. The voice had come from an eel-like creature whose disproportionately large head features a single large eye, a mouth, and little else in the form of facial features. The Reader recognises the creature as a wyrm of the Sea-Dominion, a kingdom officially under the jurisdiction of the Commonwealth.

While the Reader has seen a couple wyrms in her lifetime, she is not especially familiar with them. Even so, she can tell that this one is… unusual. Most distinctly, he is not wearing a helmet as is customary among wyrm-knights, but rather his head is adorned with a somewhat out of place looking top-hat, which somehow looks clean despite being recently submerged in seawater. In addition to this, his face is adorned with a pair of catfish-like whiskers and a… monocle. She supposes it is what counts as glasses for a race like the wyrms.

“...As I was saying.” The wyrm resumes in a squeaky yet self-important tone. “What is this? How, exactly, do you intend to compensate me for this… this damage?!”

The wyrm points down the side of the ship with his tail, and the Reader glances overboard to see what the fuss is about. She is… having trouble seeing what the wyrm is speaking of. There does not seem to be anything amiss, aside from some scattered pieces of driftwood which are happily floating away with the currents.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Don’t see anything?!” The wyrm appears shocked, his eye wide open and his tail pointing straight up. “That is my residence you are looking at, young miss! Or should I say ‘was’ since now it is in ruins thanks to your vessel!” He looks at each one of the triumvirate members. “Who is the captain of this sad excuse for a ship?”

The Reader looks back and forth between her companions before carefully raising her voice. “Well, our leader is currently indisposed but maybe I can help? I’m the Reader of our group, pleased to meet y-”

“Ah! The leader! Excellent.” The wyrm interrupts the Reader and wiggles up to her, rising to his full height which places his head somewhere around her waist level. “So! How do you intend to compensate me, as your group’s leader?”

“N-no, I said Reader.” The Reader stutters in response.

“Yes! Leader. I heard you the first time miss, my hearing is not completely gone yet!”

The Reader drags her hand across her face in annoyance when Peyford taps her shoulder and whispers to her.

“There were some scattered pieces of flotsam spread around but nothing which I’d call a home. It can’t have been too sturdy, seeing as it barely scratched the boat in the impact.”

The Reader sighs in relief and whispers back. “Good thing that the boat was not damaged. If Manley was up I guess this is where he’d throw him a bag of sol and we’d be on our way…”

Peyford chuckles and the Reader turns back to the wyrm. “We’re very sorry for the damage but we do not have much that we can offer in compensation. If you would be so inclined, you could come along with us and you would have food and shelter at least.”

The wyrm seems to consider this for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing in a more polite, if still loud, manner. “Well! I suppose that will do for now.” He slithers up to the Reader and extends his tail towards her. “You may know this wyrm as Lord Tidemont. However, Sir will suffice, as his title has lost its meaning after his shameful exile!”

The Reader decides not to question that logic, and hesitates a bit before carefully grabbing the wyrm’s tail in a simile of a handshake.

“Pleasure to meet you. Let me show you around the wagon… err, boat.” She smiles politely, gesturing for him to follow her.

The rest of the triumvirate disperses as the Reader shows Sir Tidemont around the insides of the wagon, informing him that Manley, who is the triumvirate’s leader, should not be disturbed at the moment. The Reader is still not sure if Tidemont is properly listening to half the things she says, or picked up on who is in charge, as he keeps referring to her as ‘the leader’ even after the tour ended.

The Reader then decides to prepare a quick meal for Tidemont and herself as she probably needs some nourishment after being asleep for so long.

“I’m sorry that we can’t offer much in terms of food.” She says as she hands him a dish of gutter crabs. She supposes that now that they are on the sea this is going to be their main source of food for some days.

Tidemont, however, seems pretty pleased with the dish. Perhaps this type of seafood is a staple of wyrm diets. During the meal, Tidemont keeps describing the features of his now destroyed home and complaining about how vessels like theirs have no consideration when travelling through wyrm waters. The Reader is starting to worry that they have gotten another rambler of Manley’s caliber on board.

After finishing the meal, she watches Tidemont leave to the back part of the boat and thinks that it would be a good moment to go find Peyford. She suspects that she owes him a ‘thank you’, as she feels that he is responsible for her still being in the triumvirate. When the Reader makes her way outside again, she realizes that the scenery has shifted quite dramatically. The sea has cleared up, now shimmering with a beautiful blue hue, and the previously barren rocky outcroppings now feature sparse but colorful vegetation. She finally finds Peyford leaning against a railing and staring out over the sea. The Reader joins him in admiring the landscape, and Peyford soon speaks up.

“Quite a nice view, isn’t it?”

“It is.” The Reader nods. “Actually, I’ve never seen the sea before, much less been on a boat. I bet that the ocean up above is even prettier but… this is nice when you don’t have any frame of reference.” She smiles melancholically. “I actually never left the capital of the Commonwealth. Father was… very protective, for better or for worse.”

“He seems like someone that cares a lot about you.” Peyford comments, staring out at the sea with a slight hint of sadness.

“Well… cared.” The Reader corrects him. “He passed away quite a while ago.”

“Oh. I apologize…” The nomad quickly bows his head. “I did not mean to be insensitive.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ve had more than a decade to come to terms with it. You’re not opening any wounds.”

There is a moment of silence as Peyford lifts his head and looks up at the setting sun.

“There’s this old saying that when people important to us pass away, they become a star which guides us. Perhaps that is especially true for someone who knew the stars like he did?”

The Reader smiles sadly. “I’d rather that he’s not watching me right now. An exiled reader, struggling to contribute to a barely successful triumvirate…” Which brings her original point to mind. “Thank you, by the way. Manley told me what happened after I passed out and… I’m guessing that you had a hand in making sure I stayed in the triumvirate.” She turns her eyes down towards the water again. “I don’t really know what the two of you must have talked about but, he seemed a lot… nicer than usual?”

Peyford raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

The Reader lets out a chuckle. “I don’t know if he’s tricking me, or maybe he’s just too sick to think properly.”

Peyford smiles in response. “An alternate view would be that he’s too sick to put on his facade, and is being honest for once.”

He glances at the Reader’s doubting expression and elaborates. “He did appear genuinely distressed when we found you unconscious after the Rite. On top of that, once he started feeling under the weather, I found that he’d sought out a bed closer to you than usual. In all fairness, while Manley has a lot of flaws, I don’t think he would wish harm upon you.” He taps his chin. “In fact, it’s quite possible that he felt guilty after I pointed out how much he’d been pressuring you...”

The Reader lets out a long sigh in response and rests her head on her arms, not sure what to make out of what Peyford just related to her. It is hard to believe that someone as self-centered as Manley would worry about the wellbeing of others, especially about hers. Although perhaps it was her defiant attitude which made him act so… defensive, and there is more to him than what she has seen so far. If that is true, perhaps it would not be a bad idea to spend some more time with him, seeing as he still has not recovered from his sea-sickness. If he is willing to give her a second chance, she could do the same for him.

Her train of thought is brought to a sudden halt as she looks up towards the looming shape rising over the horizon. There, before their small boat, towers the enormous prow of a sunken ship. However, the ship itself is much less of a concern than the… thing wrapped around it. She averts her eyes, not wanting to deal with another monstrosity before she is forced to.

“Ah, the Hulk of Ores…” Peyford glances at the Reader. “No matter how many times we come here, one never really gets over the shock of seeing it.”

The Reader nods to herself, still staring at the water and avoiding the landmark. She supposes that she will have to postpone her conversation with Manley for a later date and start preparing for the upcoming Rite.


	14. Knights of the Sea

Since the wagon had arrived at the Hulk of Ores, the Reader has been struggling with a dilemma regarding Manley. She has gone back and forth several times regarding the idea of waking him up and asking him to conduct the Rite. Now she is once more standing outside the door to the sleeping quarters, weighing the pros and cons of doing so. In the end, even if he is awake and able to stand up, he can hardly be in any condition to conduct it. Yet the Reader knows that he would insist on joining no matter what state he is in, and even if it will bruise his ego even more, she can not in good conscience allow him to participate in his current state and risk worsening his condition. The triumvirate could do without a repeat of what happened after she pushed herself too hard during the Rite against the Withdrawn.

“Miss Leader! May this lord have a moment of your time!?”

The Reader is snapped out of her musings as Lord… Sir Tidemont approaches her. She is surprised to note that he is dressed in the raiments of the Chastity, carrying his mask in his tail.

“I thought you were no longer a lord?” She comments with a hint of a smile, though the wyrm’s garb makes her raise an eyebrow.

“Oh certainly! Old speech-habits die hard you see, miss. But language aside, this lord humbly requests that you allow him to participate in your upcoming Rite!”

The Reader is equally as surprised to hear him display knowledge of what the Rites are as she was to see him dressed in raiments. She takes a step away from the door and gestures for Tidemont to lower his voice.

“Sir Tidemont, remember that you’re our guest. I don’t think it would be very hospitable of us to throw you into such a… situation so out of nowhere.”

“Oh but on the contrary miss!” Tidemont replies. “If you were to allow this lord to participate in the Rite on your behalf, you may consider our debt settled! Truly, this would allow for the settling of several scores at once, as I have quarrel with the leader of the Pyrehearts, your opponents this night!”

The Reader cuts him off at that point. “Our opponents are already here?” She glances at the sleeping quarters door, then at Tidemont, then at the door leading outside. “I suppose… if it would make us even then… you could join us tonight…?” She hesitates.

Tidemont, seemingly unaware of her doubts lets out a celebratory cry.

“Huzzah! This lord promises you this will not be something which you regret, miss!”

The wyrm then slithers out the wagon door, followed by the Reader after a moment of exasperation. As she steps outside, she takes a moment to scan the sky. It appears that the stars are about to align above the sunken Hulk of Ores a few minutes from now. This also means that her ability to ignore the landmark before her is long past, and with a shiver, she lowers her gaze from the sky to observe the Rite field.

Just like the other celestial landmarks, the field is set before the long dead remains of what the book calls one of the ‘Greater Titans.’ Only, in this case the Reader is not absolutely certain that the being before her is truly dead. To begin with, the form before her is hard to truly make sense of, as it is comprised primarily of a mass of octopus-like tentacles, each and every one of them capped with an unnerving eye. Continuing on, the Reader lets out another shiver as she considers the landmark’s ‘summit’ for lack of a better word. Out of the tentacled mass protrudes the prow of the once great ship which gives the area its name, and around the prow… two enormous yet concerningly human-looking arms grip the ship as if in a final desperate attempt to hang on to life. Like the Spring of Jomuer, this landmark tells a story, but unlike the comical implications of the spring, this one is far more grim. Finally, everything is unnaturally still. As if frozen in time, the deceased titan clings on to the ship while its numerous eyes observe everything around it, for eternity.

The Reader tries to push away the feeling of being watched as she reaches the Rite field. Their opponents appear to already be gathered at their end of the field, a triumvirate composed exclusively of wyrms, clad in turquoise and red raiments. They appear unwilling to come forward to introduce themselves, and the Reader wonders if this is because the Chastity is missing its leader.

“Come! We must introduce ourselves!” Tidemont gestures to her and crams his mask over his head.

“Indeed! It will be up to this triumvirate to take the first step in displaying appropriate conduct according to the customs of both the Rites and the Sea-Dominion! Our opponent’s leader is far too much of a craven coward to even stick his tail out without being called.”

The Reader notes the resentment in the last statement loud and clear, but figures it might be a tad exaggerated. She quietly follows the wyrm onto the field, where Avrec, Peyford, and Xaxiana all shoot her a look, to which she responds with an incredulous shrug. Not sure what else to do, she gestures for them to take up positions before the pyre with Peyford in the front spot. While the Reader gets the rest of the triumvirate in order, Sir Tidemont has slithered up to the center of the field, where he is slowly joined by the leader of the opposing wyrm triumvirate.

“Aha! This lord could spot that posture anywhere! Still sullying the Underking’s name by leading his triumvirate, Deluge?!” Tidemont brashly declares as the Reader quietly watches from a few steps away.

“T-T-T-Tidemont!” The leader of the Pyrehearts stutters, their shrill voice only barely muffled by their mask. “W-why are you with the Chastity?! W-weren’t you disinterested in the Rites?!”

The Reader is quickly realizing that there may not be such a thing as a wyrm with an indoor voice. Though she has to admit that the one known as Deluge is doing an excellent job at sounding completely meek yet simultaneously quite loud.

“In f-f-fact! It is quite traitorous of you to go against your own kind like this!” Deluge continues.

It is at this point that Tidemont seems to pause for a moment, though the Reader can see he is struggling to remove his mask. After a few grunts and some effort, the wyrm slams his helmet-like mask onto the deck of the Hulk of Ores, staring at Deluge with burning passion in his single eye.

“There is not a hint of treachery in this lord’s heart! Instead, there is only a deep distaste for serving under a base coward such as yourself!”

The words seem to have stunned Sir Deluge, leaving him squirming on the spot as another wyrm slithers up next to him. This new wyrm respectfully raises his tail in a salute and addresses Sir Tidemont in a confident yet respectful tone.

“Best of tidings to you good lord! It warms this knight’s heart to see you participating in this honorable tradition on your own terms!”

The newcomer struggles for a moment with their mask before letting it drop to the deck, revealing a battle-scarred yellow wyrm underneath. This one is wearing an ordinary-looking knight’s helmet, leading the Reader to wonder how either wyrm fits their accessories underneath their masks.

“Oh!” Tidemont appears visibly surprised, his tail standing on end. “Sir Gilman, is it not?! How far have the standards of the Commonwealth sunk when even an honorable and dutiful knight such as yourself is deemed deserving of exile?”

The previously stoic expression of the knight called Gilman saddens a bit as he appears to reminisce.

“This knight has unfortunately lost his honor... He is here in exile in an attempt to reclaim it.”

Sir Tidemont nods to this, as if it was a completely logical and obvious statement.

“This lord fears there is little honor which can be gained by following a cowardly commander, Sir Gilman. I advise you to bring your search to more likely venues!”

It is at this point where the squirming Sir Deluge seems to finally regain his confidence, drawing up to his full size and dropping his helmet onto the deck as well. Underneath the mask is an odd looking turquoise wyrm. He appears to have a smaller eye than his kin, though he also appears to be straining hard enough to make said eye almost bulge out of its socket. Alongside this, he also has some form of long, curly, green hair, which the Reader does not dare to speculate about the nature of.

“Y-y-you would know nothing about finding honor, Tidemont! The triumvirate you’ve thrown your lot in with is a miserable troop composed of cheaters and crooks!”

Tidemont appears somewhat shocked by this accusation, his one eye opening wide in surprise.

“This lord is shocked and appalled by such allegations, Deluge! Why it only reveals the depths of your dishonesty, to accuse such a noble and kind soul such as hers of being the leader of a band such as the one you describe!”

At this point the Reader tries to raise her hand to make her way into the conversation, but she falters before she even manages to raise her voice. She is starting to feel that this leader misunderstanding is going too far by now and that she should stop it. However, Tidemont appears so worked up that she doubts that her words would make it through, and she notices that Deluge appears to be looking around in confusion, probably searching for the absent Manley.

“Y-y-y-you are clearly a fool, Tidemont!” Deluge finally retorts as he slowly slithers backwards towards his own pyre. “And we will show you what a m-mistake you’ve made in your choice of comrades! N-now, EN GARDE!”

And with that, the two wyrms from the Pyrehearts head back over to their pyre, while Sir Tidemont turns to join the rest of the Chastity. This leaves the Reader standing slightly dumbfounded to the side of the field. That entire conversation just happened around her and she is not sure if a single meaningful statement came out of it. She can only hope that Tidemont did not just convince another triumvirate that she is the leader of the Chastity, one misunderstanding is quite enough.

As the Reader retreats to a good observation point, Tidemont briefly catches her attention.

“Miss Leader! I understand that you additionally carry the responsibilities of reading in these Rites! Know, that your wish will be my command during these proceedings!”

With his announcement out of the way, Tidemont slithers down to join the rest of the triumvirate, making it a group of four exiles gathered around the Chastity’s pyre, as the Reader turns her eyes to the stars and awaits their alignment.

…

“Reader!”

And there’s another entity mostly lacking an indoor voice, the Reader notes as the Voice bursts in to accompany her through the Rite.

“Still you persist I see, and with enough determination to bring you across the sea to the Hulk of Ores. But what’s this? Once more you bring four exiles onto the field of this sacred tradition. I hope you realize that two Rites worth of good behaviour does not exempt you from the rules.”

The Reader had of course realized that she would have to make a choice, and she notes that she needs to start talking these decisions through with the triumvirate in the future. As it stands, Tidemont’s request had been far too last-minute so she will have to make up her mind on the spot.

“Your opponents this night will be… the Pyrehearts. Even separated from their homeland, every encounter is a battle for these wyrms.”

The Voice pauses.

“Now… Who will conduct for the Chastity tonight?”

It is at that point that a realization hits the Reader. Looking at the field before her, she has three conductors whom she knows will follow her instructions to some degree, assuming Tidemont meant what he said. With this in mind, there is only a brief moment of hesitation, and she speaks the names of her three chosen participants.

“Peyford…”

First, the nomad’s aura lights up,

“Avrec…”

Second, the beggar’s aura flares to life.

“... Sir Tidemont.”

Finally, a small aura reveals itself around Sir Tidemont.

Almost immediately, the Reader can sense a sharp glare coming her way and she notices that Xaxiana is staring at her from underneath her mask. However, as quickly as she felt the look, the harp lowers her head and quietly walks off the Rite field. The Reader feels as if she has a future conversation headed her way on that front, but she does not get much time to think of it, as the light signalling the impending commencement of the Rite has appeared.

“Begin!”

As the Rite gets started, the Reader immediately communicates a strategy to her entire team. It is a curious feeling to see all of her participants focused on the Rite like this, and she gets an odd sense of satisfaction from seeing them respond so rapidly and efficiently to her prompts. When both teams get moving, it turns out that wyrms behave rather differently from other races she has seen in the Rites so far. The Reader is caught off guard as one of the opposing wyrms swims right past the nomad, leaving a trail of their own aura behind as if it were made of water, before somehow detonating the trail and whipping themselves back to safety, banishing Peyford in the process.

_“But to execute that strategy they have to get in close…”_

The Reader analyzes the situation and quickly adapts their strategy. While the wyrms are fast, their diminutive auras make them vulnerable to direct tackles from conductors with any sort of presence on the field.

<We have a range advantage! Peyford and Avrec, cut them off as they try to encircle you. Run into them and banish them to open a path, we’ll counter their tactic with sheer aggression.>

Once more, the quick response is highly satisfying, and the members of the Chastity quickly settle into the roles which suit them the best. Avrec takes to rushing headfirst at the Pyrehearts while Peyford hangs back to pick off those that Avrec misses, with Sir Tidemont quickly grabbing the orb whenever there is an opportunity for a dousing. All of it is coordinated by the Reader, who acts like an extra pair of eyes, allowing the three of them to have a much improved awareness of the field around them.

Paying close attention to everything going on like that is exhausting. However unlike the exhaustion which had taken her down in Flagging hands, this is a fulfilling effort, one which renews her confidence and will to conduct the Rites. After the Chastity’s third dousing, the Reader notices that the Pyrehearts seem to be lacking a bit of that same confidence.

“W-w-what are you all doing?! Don’t just run into them! Get to their pyre!”

Deluge seems to lose even more of his composure as the tides turn against him. His berating even bleeds into the field, as he stands around shouting at his triumvirate while the Chastity takes control. The Rite progresses, and this trend gets worse and worse, until the Reader can recognize their behaviour in how the Chastity conducted their first Rites. With the cohesion of the Pyrehearts rapidly crumbling, it does not take long before the Chastity has doused their pyre, prevailing in the Rite without so much as a flicker from their own flame.

“And it is done! The Chastity prevails. In a skillful display of strategy no less...”

Even the Voice seems willing to admit that their performance was impressive.

“Until the next Rite!”

…

After the conclusion of the Rite, the Reader notices one of the Pyrehearts approaching them. As they doff their mask, it turns out to be Sir Gilman, who offers them another salute.

“This knight must commend the Chastity on their impressive performance tonight! May your fortunes hold true in future Rites!”

He is quickly joined by Sir Deluge, who is quick to express his displeasure.

“B-b-be quiet Gilman! There is nothing impressive about your failure!”

At this, Tidemont draws himself up to his full height, staring down at Deluge.

“This behavior is truly disgraceful coming from a commander, Deluge!” Once more the Reader can hear the disdain in Tidemont’s voice, and this time it does not appear exaggerated. “Only one as incompetent as yourself could blame their own failures upon their comrades! Had this lord been aware of this manner of conduct back in the Commonwealth, your exile would have come much sooner!”

At this point, the Reader lets out an awkward cough. Had she not known better, she could have thought this comment was about Manley and not Deluge. Thankfully, the wyrm-knights soon separate and the triumvirates return to their respective wagons.

Despite the exchange after the Rite, the mood is noticeably cheerful, with Peyford, Avrec, and Sir Tidemont crowding around the Reader, all talking excitedly about their performance. Avrec in particular is keen to suggest that this is a time for celebration. In contrast, Xaxiana is walking a few steps away from them, remaining completely silent as well as keeping her mask on. The Reader feels so caught up in the mood that she does not really notice the harp’s sullen behaviour. Neither does she take a moment to gather her thoughts as she sees Manley approaching them, staring at the cheerful group with a confounded expression on his face. The Reader quickly catches up to him with a bright smile on her face, while Avrec drags Peyford away saying something about drinks, closely followed by Sir Tidemont.

“Manley! I have to tell you about the Rite. We-”

Before she can go any further, Manley interrupts her, and the Reader notes that he still appears a bit out of it.

“The Rite?” He asks. “Reader… what do you mean to say about the Rite? Surely it hasn’t begun yet?...” There is a pause as the realization grows visible on the sap’s face. “Surely it is not over already?! You would have woken me up for it, wouldn’t you?”

There is an accusation implicit in the question, and the Reader gets a sense that the sap’s feelings have been hurt by being left out in this manner. She stammers as she starts explaining.

“W-well, you were still feeling sick. We didn’t want to bother-”

She is once more interrupted, this time by Xaxiana striding past her. The harp bumps lightly against Manley, pausing to take off her mask and smirk at the sap.

“Seems like we’re both replaceable now, mmm?”

And without another word she disappears towards the wagon. Manley then turns to look at the Reader once again, a frown now fully formed on his face. Though unusually enough, the sap appears more deceived than angry, and genuinely so at that. The Reader feels a jab of remorse at this, experiencing an intense need to explain herself.

“This… this looks really bad, I know. But I honestly wasn’t trying to replace you, I promise. This one Rite just had such unfortunate timi-”

“HUZZAH!”

And for the third time this evening, the Reader is interrupted mid-sentence, this time by an exuberant Sir Tidemont with an empty drinking glass clutched in his tail.

“This Lord is overjoyed to be a part of a triumvirate headed by such a competent and compassionate leader!”

He turns to face the Reader, to Manley’s growing frustration.

“Miss Leader! This lord wishes to formally make it his mission to ensure that you and your triumvirate make it to a liberation Rite! He swears it on what remains of his lordly honor! And moreover he-”

The Reader is cringing through the entire speech, along with awkward gestures trying to tell the wyrm to quiet down. As Sir Tidemont’s praise grows more extatic and less coherent, Manley finally reaches his limit, angrily cutting into the wyrm’s rambling.

“This is QUITE enough!” The Reader has seen Manley be upset before, but this is a new level. “Sir Wyrm! This woman is not the leader of this company, that position is held by myself!” He angrily jabs a thumb at himself. “At least I believe I still do, despite her tendency to make decisions about important matters such as who joins the Chastity!”

Sir Tidemont appears quite surprised by this revelation. It also seems like Manley’s sharp tone managed to cut straight through the wyrm’s hearing issues and deliver the message loud and clear.

“Pardon?... So you’re saying that this lord was mistaken? Truly, he simply thought that-”

“Oh, I’m certain that this was a simple oversight.” It appears that Manley is finally managing to affect his usual flattering tone. “Just an ordinary mistake at the hands of our dear Reader, as usual, hmm?”

Manley shoots a look at the Reader, one that she’s not quite sure how to interpret, before turning back to Tidemont.

“Since you have already been given the offer, Sir knight, I would not be so cruel as to rescind it. You may come along, if you wish, but I am the one who will be issuing orders, understood?”

Then, without waiting for Tidemont's acknowledgement, Manley turns around and heads back towards the wagon. The Reader, after a moment of hesitation hurries after him, stammering out an explanation.

“Please! L-let me tell you about everything you’ve missed. That impact was the boat running into Sir Tidemont’s… house…? A-and to compensate him for the damage we offered him a place to stay, I really never intended to let him participate in the Rites but he-”

In the middle of her explanation Manley silently raises a hand, pausing for a moment before turning around and giving the Reader a single look. The look is not judgemental. It is not angry. It just appears… wounded. The Reader gets a strangely specific feeling from the look, the feeling of someone who had a moment of weakness, which was exploited by someone they thought they could trust.

“Enough. I do not wish to talk to you, Reader.”

As he closes the door behind him, the Reader drops her shoulders and lowers her head, standing alone under the starry sky while she can hear the voices of the rest of the triumvirate in the distance, celebrating their victory in the Rites.


	15. Harps of a Feather

To describe the Reader’s mood since the Rite against the Pyrehearts, the word ‘sullen’ may be appropriate. It had just been annoyance, after setback, after annoyance, and it was showing no sign of stopping any time soon.

After they had set out from the Hulk of Ores, the wagon had been forced to take a detour to circumvent some huge storm, colloquially known as the Deathless Tempest. Peyford and Xaxiana had told her to be ready for trouble, as this would take them into wyrm-infested waters. However, Tidemont had burst into that conversation, assuring them all that his high status would keep the boat from being attacked.

While this development had originally given the Reader some relief, she soon started to wonder if wyrm attacks might not have been preferable to having Tidemont along for the ride. As it turns out, she had been wrong in her assessment that the wyrm might be a rambler on par with Manley. He may actually be worse.

During the entire trip around the tempest, Tidemont had been talking her ear off about subjects which were all more or less at the same level of irrelevancy. The Reader had received such enlightening knowledge as the wyrm’s entire genealogy, all of his titles, and the reason for his nobility. Supposedly, his whiskers are what sets him apart from other wyrms, as they are meant to be a marker for his descent from the Underking himself. While the Reader highly doubted this claim, she had not been in the mood for a debate, and Tidemont had quickly moved on to regaling her with tales of his bravery on the Bloodborder. Any other time she might have been fascinated with the stories, but at that point the nonstop tales had only served to remind her of the rambling introduction Manley had given her during their trip towards Hollowroot.

While on the subject of Manley, he had been another great contributor to her poor mood. During the three days’ trip around the tempest, the sap had spent the majority of his time in the living quarters. Whenever an occasion like meal-time placed the two of them in the same room, he had neither spoken a word to the Reader, nor made eye contact with her. Most members of the Chastity would have seen this as a blessing, but to the Reader it was endlessly frustrating. They had taken a step forward during their conversation at sea, and now it felt like they had taken four steps back, leaving them worse off than when they first met.

But the biggest annoyance by far is the fact that the wagon has been stuck in the same place for several days by now. After crossing the sea, they had arrived in a land known as Black Basin, a suffocatingly hot area featuring numerous exposed magma flows alongside high cliffs primarily made of obsidian. All in all, it is baffling to her why they had picked this particular spot to set up camp, but she also did not want to raise the question and risk causing another misunderstanding about her questioning Manley’s leadership. However, as she sees the alignment of the stars growing closer each night, eventually her impatience wins out over her hesitation, and the next morning she goes to find Peyford and get some answers.

She is then joined by an insistent Sir Tidemont, and they find the nomad at one of the black cliffs surrounding their campsite, sitting on a makeshift stool with his eyes turned towards the sky.

“This lord has reservations about these cliffs…” Sir Tidemont comments as they approach. “They remind him too much of the Bloodborder, and he cannot shake the sense of being watched.”

Peyford hears the wyrm, and turns to face the two of them with a nod.

“That makes sense. Black Basin is, for all intents and purposes, harp territory, and continuing on without securing safe passage would be unwise, hence the delay.”

“So what did you do in the past?” The Reader asks. “You must have been called here before, right? Surely you didn’t just sit around and wait for things to sort themselves out.”

Peyford scratches the back of his head before answering.

“Well, in the past we have waited to meet the other triumvirate heading there and negotiated passage together. If that fails we usually avoid the Rite completely, to Manley and Xaxiana’s relief. For some reason neither of them particularly like the area.” He sighs. ”However, since no wagon has come by, that must mean we are facing _them_ in the next Rite.”

The Reader raises an eyebrow, prompting Peyford to elaborate.

“The Essence. They are a triumvirate composed entirely of harps which make their home in these cliffs. Obviously, they do not need to negotiate passage like we do.” He shrugs, getting up from his vantage point. “At this rate it seems like we’ll just have to pack up and wait for the next Rite.”

Here, the Reader steps up, cutting in front of Peyford.

“No, we’re not. By now, I refuse to ignore the Scribes’ call to a Rite, and we won’t quit just because it’s challenging.” She raises her hand and starts walking back towards the wagon. “Don’t start packing, I’ll solve this somehow.”

“Ahaa!” Suddenly, Tidemont cries out in triumph, slithering up next to the Reader. “Such admirable courage, in this land infested with harps! Truly, this lord did not expect to find one of your kind with a wyrm’s spirit!”

This may have been considered an insult back in the Commonwealth, where wyrms are usually seen as either brash or foolishly valiant. Coming from a wyrm, however, the Reader must assume that it was meant as a compliment, which helps her suppress the frown forming on her face.

“Spoken like a true leader! Despite your status of not being one!” He adds.

The Reader just groans before waving to Peyford and Tidemont, leaving them to their business. As much as she hates to admit it, the wyrm knight has a point. If no one else is going to take the reins, she is going to be forced to make a decision and do her job as a reader. That is, guiding the triumvirate, whether it is in or outside of the Rites.

Now, she figures that if there is anyone who could negotiate with the harps, it should be their own harp. Thus, she is off to find Xaxiana. This takes a little longer than expected, as she is not in her usual spot on top of the wagon. Instead, the Reader finds her sitting on the ground, leaning up against the side of the wagon which is facing away from Black Basin proper. When the Reader approaches, the harp grins to herself before speaking up.

“Been expecting you, Reader.”

The Reader pauses for a moment, surprised by the harp’s words. However, not wanting to get distracted she gets right to the point.

“Good morning, Xaxiana. We have encountered a problem, and I was wondering if you could aid me in solving it.” She clears her throat. “It appears that no one in the triumvirate seems interested in attending the next Rite because of its location, but I was expecting that the two of us could manage to reach an agreement with the harps so we could get on the right track.” She then glances up at the sky for a moment. “What I mean is that we cannot simply ignore the stars’ call and wait for another Rite to come along, not now that it seems like we are achieving something here.”

Xaxiana briefly meets the Reader’s eyes before looking away towards the stormy sky above the sea. The Reader still cannot read anything into the harp’s mannerisms. No matter what she does, Xaxiana’s feelings appear to be completely limited to the words she speaks and nothing else.

“Yep. Figures you’d only come seek me out when you need me for something you think _only I_ can do.”

The Reader furrows her brow in confusion as Xaxiana continues.

“Honestly, Reader. You realize that this behavior of yours is not much better than Manley’s, don’t you?” The Reader frowns, but Xaxiana continues. “We’re just some pawns to be used for your convenience... or something. It’s very clear during the Rites, you know, where you just decide what is going to happen on the spot, without talking to anyone about it beforehand.”

The harp briefly glances at the Reader again, and she feels a need to defend herself. She straightens up, sticks out her chin, and clasps her hands behind her back.

“I see… This is about the Pyrehearts Rite, isn’t it?” The harp’s feathers rise, but she stays silent as the Reader elaborates. “Xaxiana, you have to understand that my decision there was nothing personal. I just did what I believed would best let me execute my strategy, for the triumvirate’s sake.”

At this, the harp visibly frowns and turns to look at the Reader, gesturing with a wing.

“And that’s exactly the problem! You only choose who gets to conduct based on your strategy, all so that we can prevail in order to make you look good in front of… Manley? The Scribes? Damned if I know. But for some reason, you never seem to consider that whether we are allowed to participate or not directly affects our chances at liberation.”

The Reader’s posture relaxes and she makes a confused face, something which Xaxiana appears to find quite funny, as evidenced by her laugh.

“Hah! Don’t tell me you don’t know! For someone that spends most of the day reading that damn book you would guess that at least you’d know that only those who actively participate in the Rites can be anointed for liberation.”

The Reader freezes for a moment, as the realization of what that means slowly sinks in.

“So… does that mean…”

Before she can formulate a coherent thought, Xaxiana cuts in.

“Yeah, that only those who don the raiments can achieve the proper state of _enlightenment_ necessary to be liberated. So keeping any of us out of the Rites prevents us from leaving the Downside.” The sneer is audible in the harp’s tone as she explains. “I’m afraid that the Scribes don’t consider reading to be active enough participation to qualify, Reader. Really, I figured Manley would have told you all of this when he appointed you as the Chastity’s reader, but I guess this isn’t surprising, coming from him. Keeping you in the dark was probably his plan all along, now that I think about it.”

The Reader takes a while to process this new piece of information. On the one hand, it certainly sheds a light onto why Manley is so annoyed at being pushed out of the Rites. Though on the other hand, that is what he gets for not sharing this piece of information with her upfront.

However, when thinking about what it means for herself, the Reader is almost surprised by how… unaffected she feels by these news. Up until now, all she has been aiming for is how to get the triumvirate to a Liberation Rite, so that anyone could get a chance at being free, while in hindsight, there is not much for her to return to. The Constables of the Peace had made sure that none of her books remained… by burning down her entire house. Moreover, she is fairly certain that as an exile, her remaining inheritance has probably been seized by the leadership, and she does not have any other relatives or acquaintances to turn to, so there goes that safety net.

The harp looks straight at the Reader.

“So what now? Still eager to get us to the Nest of Triesta?”

“Of course I want to go.” She says with more conviction than before, dropping into a more comfortable form of speech. “So let’s get moving. We need to talk to the harps on behalf of the Chastity as soon as possible if we want to make it on time.”

Xaxiana just stares at the Reader for a bit, clearly in disbelief at the Reader’s willingness to continue helping the triumvirate.

“Tsk… I can’t tell if you’re an idiot or if you really like these Rites… or both. Either way, I’m not talking to the Highwing Remnants.” She pauses for a moment. “Why don’t you ask our _ambassador_ to do his job for once?”

At this point Xaxiana lowers her helmet over her eyes, attempting to signal that the conversation is over. The Reader is not having it, however, continuing on.

“Well, the _ambassador_ doesn’t want to talk to me. And even if he did, would you really want to see him, of all people, try to reach an agreement with the Highwing?”

Xaxiana simply grins at this, apparently imagining what a disaster that would turn out to be. The Reader lets out an exasperated sigh and throws her hands into the air. The harp is clearly willing to do basically anything to avoid other harps, for some reason. While the Reader does not have a clue as to why this is, she can make an educated guess.

“Fine then… keep on sitting here, avoiding the harps just because they don’t want you around. The problems you have will still chase you no matter how fast you run, and I’m sure things will go great when some day you inevitably have to face them again.”

Clearly, the Reader’s frustrated mood makes her retort a bit harsher than intended, but for some reason it elicits a much stronger reaction from the harp than she had expected. With a shriek, Xaxiana springs to her feet, staring at the Reader with her face contorted into a growl.

“You!! Stay out of my head! As if it wasn’t enough for you to constantly talk into it during the Rites, now you have to look at what I think as well?!” She lifts her wing and points to her head. “What goes on in here is mine, and only mine! Can you understand that?!”

The Reader is torn between fear and confusion, as she stares back up at the much taller person standing over her. However, while she cannot understand the anger, it is clear that she struck close to home, and somehow broke through the harp’s emotional reservations. She raises her hands and speaks carefully, hoping to defuse the situation.

“Xaxiana… you make it sound like I can read your mind or something...” She says with an incredulous tone.

The harp only responds with a furious glare, so the Reader continues.

“Look, as I understand, the only reason you can hear me during the Rites is because the book connects us together, just like how it allows you to project your aura. And even then, it only lets you hear me, not the other way around. I just get this little sense that my words reach their destination, like an echo, nothing more. I have no clue what you are actually thinking. I mean, in your case I don’t even get an echo, so I haven’t been sure if you can hear me or not.”

“Oh I do...” The harp mutters, as her look turns from fury to suspicion. “Then how…”

“How did I figure you have an issue with the harps?” The Reader notices Xaxiana wince slightly as she finishes the harp’s sentence. “Xaxiana please, it is obvious that that’s the case.” The Reader raises her hand and counts off the facts on her fingers. “You’re a harp which doesn’t want to see other harps, and you just came up with several excuses, including trying to discourage me from the Rites altogether to avoid seeing them. That lead me to believe that something about them is scaring you, and you’re running away from it. Really, you don’t put much feeling into your speech, but the words still have meaning, you know what I’m saying?”

Xaxiana grumbles but remains silent.

“And what I said still holds true, right? No problem ever got solved by avoiding it. And frankly, you never struck me as someone who ran away from their problems.”

Xaxiana cuts in, throwing up her wings.

“Reader! I’m an outcast, okay?! Going against the Essence is just... something I cannot do, can’t we leave it at that?!”

The Reader is quick to respond.

“Then prove to them that casting you out was a mistake! Surely doing something can’t be worse than doing nothing, really.”

At this point Xaxiana seems to realize that the Reader is not going to give up because of simple excuses. She relaxes her shoulders, letting her wings droop as she paces back and forth. This must be the least guarded the Reader has ever seen the harp up until now.

“I-It’s… it’s not that easy Reader… They despise me- I-I just can’t…” The pacing turns into walking in circles. “They don’t trust me, or... think I’m good enough. They all think I-I’m a…” She clenches her teeth, clearly holding something back. “Look. They did not think I should be allowed to stay with them any more, that’s enough said, right? Haven’t you noticed that there has been no other harps in the Rites so far? That’s because exiled harps stick together, like sisters, and anyone deemed worthy of the Rites joins the Essence.”

Xaxiana is full on venting now.

“Did you think I wanted to be in the Chastity, taking orders from that stupid sap?! No! But I had no other choice if I wanted a shot at freedom!” She takes a deep breath. “Either way, the absolute last thing I need in my life right now is a humiliating Rite against the Essence, in the Nest of Triesta of all places.”

The Reader senses another track she can pick up on, and replies.

“So then we ensure that it is not a humiliating Rite, and make a point of showing them what you are capable of.” She smiles reassuringly. “I’ve seen you conduct the Rites, Xaxiana. You’re very skilled when left with nothing in your way, but you hold yourself back in fear of stepping over a comrade and accidentally causing a problem.”

The Reader notes a slight twitch on Xaxiana’s face, making note of it for later.

“But if you can put a bit of trust in me, I’ll be able to coordinate you all to keep that from happening.”

Xaxiana mutters. “I... admit you do seem like a competent strategist from what I’ve seen...” She then shoots the Reader a sharp glare. “I… I’ll still need your word that you won’t try to get into my head if I listen to you...”

“I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to, Xaxiana.” The Reader raises her hand. “Your secrets are safe from me, you have my word. I just wish for us to prevail in the Rites, that’s all that matters to me.”

Xaxiana sits down and remains quiet for a while, grumbling and seemingly remaining unable to come to a decision.

“Fine then.” The Reader finally says, letting out a sigh. “I give up. I’ll go do it myself, I suppose... I’ll be back before evening, if all goes well...”

As the Reader starts walking off, the harp springs to her feet, hurrying after her.

“Alright! I’ll come! You’ll... just get yourself killed or something if you go alone.” She mutters. “You have a pretty manipulative way with words you know, Reader?”

The Reader simply smirks as the two of them head off into Black Basin. “That’s what words are for, aren’t they?”

Xaxiana glances at the Reader with a look of mild concern.

After wandering for a while through the part of Black Basin which the harp had pointed out as ‘Highwing Cove’, they can not shake the sense of constantly being watched. The Reader can also notice Xaxiana’s nervosity, going by the way she keeps looking up and around her, completely on edge. Eventually, they spot a solitary harp sitting at the edge of a cliff, completely visible from their position on the ground. Xaxiana leans in to whisper to the Reader.

“I recognize her. Shikara, from the Essence.”

“Their leader?” The Reader whispers back.

“No.” Xaxiana shakes her head. “And we’re damned lucky to not have met their leader first, if you ask me.”

By then, the harp has taken notice of them, and hops off her perch in order to glide down to the two outsiders.

“Well, well, well...” The harp known as Shikara lands in front of them and pushes her helmet back, giving Xaxiana a mocking grin. “Look who pulled their head out of the sand. What are you doing back here, _Xaxiana_?”

The Reader picks up on a note of scorn in the way the harp speaks, and glances at her companion to see how she will respond. She finds Xaxiana frozen in place, though, her lips pressed tightly together and her entire body as tense as the strings of a lute. Since she does not appear to be in a state to answer any time soon, the Reader steps forth.

“Greetings.” She gives her a formal bow. “I’m the Reader of the Chastity. We’re here to negotiate free passage in order to reach the Nest of Triesta for the upcoming Rite.”

Shikara turns to the Reader and quietly regards her for a moment, still grinning.

“Ah right, you’re one of the new faces the scouts have been reporting. New members, and now you’re requesting passage? Why, it looks like you’re actually putting some effort into the Rites, huh?” She theatrically raises a wing. “And here I had some bets saying that you wouldn’t show up. Are you sure you don’t want to just hide away in your forest again?”

They have only exchanged a few words but the Reader is noticing that Xaxiana seems to be getting more and more tense the longer the conversation goes on. Feeling that it may be best to get this over with as soon as possible, she blurts out the first response she can think of.

“No, we’re not hiding. So, can we take the path through the cove to reach the nest or not? I’m not hearing a reason for you to stop us, unless you’re worried that you’ll get defeated by the Chastity, that is.” She even manages a small grin in return.

“R-Reader!” This seems to shake Xaxiana out of her stupor.

Shikara, on the other hand, just laughs before looking at Xaxiana.

“That’s cute! Even the wingless has more backbone than you, it seems!” She then turns her head back towards the Reader. “Although your triumvirate is so incredibly non-threatening, we still appreciate the exercise. Besides, there is no favor to be gained if our prey doesn’t even show up. So by all means, please! Show up and help us return to your precious Commonwealth, where we will render it to ashes.”

With those ominous words and a joyful laugh, she turns and waves a wing at the two Chastity members.

“I’ll tell the others to not bother you on the way up. See you tonight, dearies~”

The next moment Shikara walks right off a cliff, prompting a gasp from the Reader. A few seconds later the harp reappears, soaring on a hot updraft from the boiling pools below, until she disappears from their sight.

“Gotta get creative when your wings are clipped…” Xaxiana mutters to herself. Then it appears that a realization finally hits her. “But that’s not the problem right now!”

“Sounds like a problem to m-” The Reader starts, seriously considering the difficulties of flight in the downside.

“Reader!” Xaxiana interrupts her. “What were you even thinking, talking to her like that?!”

“I just wanted a clear answ-”

“If that was Tamitha you would be dead right now!” She buries her face in her wings. “Oh Saint! What did I get myself into? This is an absolutely horrible idea!”

“Xaxiana calm down, it’ll be fine if we jus-”

Xaxiana gasps, hit by another realization. “Oh no, nonononono.” She puts her wings against the Reader’s shoulders, getting uncomfortably close. “You can’t let Manley participate in the next Rite. You will absolutely doom us if you do!”

“Xaxiana!” The Reader raises her voice, lifting the harp’s wings off her shoulders. “Didn’t you just lecture me about how I pick people to participate without taking their feelings into account?”

“Pshhh…” Xaxiana waves a wing dismissively. “This is Manley we’re talking about, I’ve never seen him show a single genuine emotion, he probably has none.”

The Reader sighs. For not having any emotions, he sure is easily offended. “Still, wouldn’t that affect his chances at liberation?”

“He’s been down here for ages before either Peyford or I got here. He’s had plenty of time to receive enlightenment.” Xaxiana shrugs. “It’ll be fine.”

The Reader rubs her forehead as the two of them start heading back to the wagon.

“Things are tense enough between the two of us as it is…” She comments.

However, letting Manley participate would drastically lower their chance at success, and this Rite is clearly going to be very important to Xaxiana.

She lets out a long sigh. “I’ll see what I can do...”

“Well, that’s one issue.” Xaxiana continues, seeming like she has calmed down a bit. “The other issue is the leader of the Essence, Tamitha Theyn. She is… she wasn’t just a Talon on the Bloodborder. She was, and likely still is, one of the best, maybe even _the_ best flight tactician the Highwing has ever seen.”

The harp chuckles weakly.

“Honestly, had she not been betrayed by her own sister, your Commonwealth might have fallen a few years ago, from what I heard. But that is not the most important thing to remember. She’s a commander first and foremost, and she treats the Rites like she treated the Bloodborder, with ruthless discipline. I bet she still trains her triumvirate like she trained her soldiers.”

Xaxiana lets out a frustrated groan.

“Reader, this is a problem! Tamitha knows everything about me, my skills, my movements, everything! She is nothing like the other leaders you have faced so far. Even if you come up with a strategy, you simply lack the experience that she has.”

The Reader has already put her chin in her hand, thinking carefully.

“Just trust me, Xaxiana.”

She smiles at the harp as they approach the wagon.

“If you just follow my directions, we’ll catch them by surprise. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To commemorate this chapter being released on Manley's birthday, here are a couple arts from our tumblr.
> 
> [First, a comic about his birthday. ](https://pyrereader.tumblr.com/post/175082888537/a-comic-to-celebrate-manleys-birthday-based-on)  
> [Then, a lineart reference for all the characters.](https://pyrereader.tumblr.com/post/174987498647/lineart-i-did-as-a-reference-for-the-fanfic-that)


	16. Sky Dance

Back at the wagon, Peyford and Avrec had made themselves comfortable around the eating table, making idle small talk, when the Reader and Xaxiana burst in through the front door.

“Peyford, get the wagon moving. We’re going straight through Highwing Cove, if we keep a high pace we can make it to the Nest of Triesta before nightfall.”

Peyford raises an eyebrow at the Reader. The question is clear, is she sure that she wants to take charge in that way?

“Either I tell you what to do or we remain here and miss our chance at getting closer to liberation.” The Reader curtly responds.

Peyford nods, and waves for Avrec to join him. Together with Xaxiana the three of them get the wagon rolling in short order. After another glance at the slowly darkening sky, the Reader ducks inside the wagon and sits down to strategize.

Fortunately, the meeting with Shikara had given her more insight into the nature of the Essence than she had expected. Most notable was the arrogance displayed. If their members do not truly see them as a threat, they are bound to leave little openings that can be exploited, which means that she just needs to be on her toes and ready to make use of these small opportunities. As for their tactics, she can imagine how they will behave based on what she has seen of Xaxiana in the Rites. That is, they are likely going to be fast, aggressive, and, in the case of the Essence, ruthlessly coordinated.

Against a strategy like that, Manley would be a detriment even if he was willing to cooperate. Additionally, while Sir Tidemont’s speed might be an asset, she fears that a group of seasoned harps from the Bloodborder may be all too used to handling wyrms, making him a potential liability as well. Perhaps a balanced triumvirate composed of Peyford, Avrec, and Xaxiana may be the best choice in this situation. The experience of the veterans alongside the unpredictability of the beggar could be exactly what they need to gain the upper hand against such a disciplined triumvirate.

“What is going on in here?! Why is the wagon moving?!”

The Reader’s thoughts are suddenly cut off as the door to the living quarters is suddenly slammed open, revealing a fuming Manley. As usual, however, he quickly adopts his familiar polite facade.

“Who, pray tell, gave the order for us to move, hmm? I certainly did not, now did I?”

No one says anything, but the Reader can feel several unconscious glances directed at her, as she looks up to make eye-contact with Manley.

“Oh…” He glances briefly at the Reader, and it only takes a moment for his facade to crumble again, his smile sinking into a deep frown.

“I see.” Manley’s voice fills with a distinct bitterness, and the Reader can almost sense a note of hatred in his tone.

Then, with no other words, he slams the door shut again, leaving the rest of the triumvirate in a stunned silence. Xaxiana is the first to speak up.

“Well, that went better than expected.” The Reader grumbles something inaudible in response before the harp turns to her, idly gesturing at the door with a wing.

“Just look at it this way, now he might hate you so much that he’ll never talk to you again. Sounds like free reign to do whatever you want and conduct the Rites properly, right? Real win-win situation there, if you ask me.”

The Reader lets out a long frustrated groan before pulling out her book, slamming it down on the table, and furiously flipping through its pages. Shortly thereafter Peyford comes over, quietly sitting down in front of her. He waits for a brief moment before speaking up.

“You look like you need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t see what there is to talk about.” The Reader replies, still flipping rapidly through the book.

“Reader.” Peyford continues, undeterred. “If I may be so bold, it seems fairly clear to me that you’re bothered by the souring of your relationship with Manley. Truly, you’ve been acting rather... annoyed lately.”

The Reader sputters slightly, lifting her head to stare at Peyford, looking for a sign of that being a joke. The nomad, however, retains his usual serious expression, and the Reader closes the book with a groan, resting her chin in her hand.

“That’s not…” She sighs. “I’m annoyed because I didn’t do anything wrong to deserve it! I mean, all I’m trying to do is what’s best for the triumvirate…” She falls quiet for a moment, staring at the wall. “Anyway, it’s not like Manley acting childish is anything newsworthy, isn’t it?”

“Sure his behavior is not new, but your reaction to it is. If I’m being honest, you two have been acting like an old married couple these last days.”

“Peyford!” She exclaims as she suddenly bursts to her feet, drawing the attention of Xaxiana, who looks over with a confused expression on her face. As the Reader becomes aware of her own over the top reaction, she slowly sinks back into her seat and continues in a lower voice.

“What in the world is that comparison supposed to mean?!” The Reader asks, unfamiliar with the expression, and genuinely struggling to find a literal connection between Manley, her, and a marriage. At that point, she notices Peyford’s quiet chuckling, which tells her that, this time, it was indeed a joke.

The Reader holds her head in her hands and lets out another annoyed groan. “Look, I never intended to treat him in this manner but, why must he make it so difficult? Every single time I want to do what is right, it’s exactly the thing that will anger him the most.” She lifts her head with a certain pride in her eyes. “But this time I’m doing it for the sake of Xaxiana. I can’t just leave her hanging because it’s going to insult him, can I?”

“Are you sure you’re doing all of this for Xaxiana?” Peyford calmly responds.

She glares back at Peyford as if she just was insulted.

“Of course! For Xaxiana and the triumvirate, I-”. The Reader suddenly stops as she wonders if he might not be right. First Xaxiana had said it, and now Peyford also appears to be hinting that she is acting selfishly. Yet somehow, she has always seen her actions as altruistic, all for the sake of the triumvirate. Though now that she is forced to reflect for a moment, perhaps there is more than a little pride involved. She glances at Peyford, who still appears to be listening attentively.

“I… just want to help everyone, honestly.” She mutters. “You’ve all somehow become the most important people around me all of a sudden, and I figured that being good at the Rites, that helping you all get what you desired the most would be the best way to gain your appreciation.”

She starts idly tracing a circle on the table with her finger. “But… maybe at some point I lost track of that and started focusing completely on prevailing in the Rites at any cost, which lead me into forcing Xaxiana to face the Essence, and getting caught up in a stupid rivalry with Manley. Now I feel like I’ve been keeping him from the Rites out of spite, which is why he probably hates me...”

She pauses to reflect for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “Deserved, I guess...”

Peyford lets out a tiny smile.

“So it comes back to Manley after all.”

The Reader throws her hands in the air and looks back at him, exasperated. “Peyford! Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course I am. I was just trying to lighten the mood.” Peyford nods. “But Manley aside, it sounds to me that perhaps you should consider different ways of getting our appreciation aside from the Rites.”

The Reader sighs sadly in return, glancing towards the door leading to the living quarters.

“As if I had anything else to offer…” She mutters to herself.

She then shakes her head and grabs back the book, intending to resume her reading.

“That will have to wait for after this Rite, though. I’m trying my best to find something useful about the next landmark in this book but the Scribes really did not write it as a guide for Rite conductors.”

Peyford clears his throat.

“Perhaps this is a time where you could talk to your fellow triumvirate members. While we may generally avoid the place, I have actually been to the Nest before.”

The Reader smiles back at him.

“Please, I need every bit of knowledge I can get.”

Peyford and the Reader spend the next little while going over the traits of the field at the Nest of Triesta. The most salient feature to the Reader is the complete lack of safeguards keeping the conductors from falling off a cliff or into a burning chasm. While Peyford assures her that the fall will not harm anyone, it is still a strategic resource that she will have to account for. Finally, the Reader nods, closing the book just in time for Avrec to call out from his vantage point at the front of the wagon.

“Ah think I see it folks! Nest a’ Triesta’s just o’er tha next hill!”

The Reader calls back to him.

“When you’ve stopped the wagon, could you please come back here? I would like to talk to all of you before the stars align.”

Soon enough, with its usual shudder and jolt, the wagon stops and Avrec joins the rest of the triumvirate at the wagon’s only table. The Reader glances over the living quarters, waiting for a moment. Once it seems clear that Manley will not be joining them, she stands up and clears her throat.

“Dear triumvirate members. I was recently told that… perhaps we would be better served if I discussed my choices before a Rite with the people whom they concern.”

She pauses and looks around the table, noticing a small nod from Xaxiana.

“If we had some more time, this might have been a more thorough debate, but we’re less than an hour away from the start of the Rite, by my reckoning. So, for this Rite, I feel that we would have the greatest chances at prevailing if I appoint Xaxiana, Peyford, and Avrec as our Rite-conductors. Does everyone agree with this?”

The four gathered exiles exchange glances and nod. Tidemont even raises his voice in approval.

“This lord has full confidence in the Reader’s judgement! If she wills it, he shall gladly step aside for this Rite!”

The Reader almost feels a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth, and she admits to herself that the wyrm’s enthusiasm can be infectious at times.

“Alright then! Get into your raiments and help me with the sigil. We’ll all have to do our best tonight!”

The Reader’s enthusiasm slowly fades during the walk from the wagon to the field where the Rite will be conducted. The area still conveys an oppressive feeling of being watched, and not even the company of her triumvirate helps her feel entirely safe. Soon enough, after finishing the climb across the last hill, they get a full view of the Rite-field stretching out below them. The Reader then immediately makes note of where the most prominent features are located. The way in which two symmetrical chasms cut across the center of the field is likely to favor an airborne team like the Essence, but she guesses that using such an advantage might make them vulnerable to interception.

Speaking of the Essence, the triumvirate already appears to be assembled around their sigil, clad in purple and green raiments. There are two harps standing at attention, and a third one taking the position where triumvirate leaders customarily greet each other. The Reader gestures for her triumvirate to set the sigil and take up positions while she herself approaches the leader of the Essence.

The Reader has to take a deep breath and clench her fists once she finds herself in front of the opposing harp. While she has gotten used to the presence of Xaxiana by now, the person standing before her exudes an intense figurative aura at a completely different level from the rest of the leaders that she has faced so far.

Unbidden, her mind immediately goes back to Xaxiana’s description of her as the best tactician the Highwing has ever seen, and she starts wondering if her own confidence in going up against such a foe might not have been a bit arrogant. In stark contrast to the Reader, Tamitha appears to be the very image of calm, simply regarding her silently from behind her mask. Finally, the Reader swallows, takes another deep breath, and speaks up.

“Greetings, leader of the Essence. Perhaps I should introduce myself. I speak on behalf of the Chastity, as their newly appointed reader. Pleased to meet you.” She ends her introduction with a formal bow, as it would be customary in the upper echelons of the Commonwealth.

“Am I to assume that you are the replacement for that sad excuse of a leader that your triumvirate used to have?”

The harp before her shows no such inclination towards formality, as she speaks slowly before raising her wings to unclasp her mask, lowering it off her face.

“Either way, this meeting shouldn’t please you, as it signals your imminent loss and another step on our path against your dear Commonwealth.”

The Reader can’t hold back a gasp as the mask comes away, revealing the harp’s face. She has a hard time taking in many details besides the harp’s left eye, a bright red iris with a black sclera that is surrounded by some form of markings, either a brand or a tattoo, she assumes. Its intense glare seems to dare the Reader to break eye contact, as the harp speaks once more.

“You’ll know me as Tamitha Theyn, leader of the Essence. Now, we should cease wasting time and proceed with the Rite.”

The Reader swallows once more and tries to catch the rest of the harp’s face before she puts the mask back on. She wears a helmet that appears to be of similar make as the one that she has seen on both Xaxiana and Shikara, although with brighter colors, possibly meant to denote her rank. From underneath the headwear flows a long, straight mass of light-blue hair, with an extensive fringe covering the harp’s right eye. The Reader can only imagine why she is hiding it, given the state of her left one.

“Y-yes, let us get started.”

The Reader turns to rejoin her triumvirate and tries to get a general sense of the mood by looking across the three conductors. Xaxiana seems just as tense as when they met Shikara, her head visibly twitching as she glances around the field. Peyford on the other hand appears as stoic as ever, posture straight and book at the ready. Avrec… is crossing his arms behind his head, trying to look casual, and the Reader can swear she hears him whistling.

Giving them all a reassuring nod, the Reader heads off the field to take up her vantage spot and finally take a proper look at the landmark while waiting for the orb to fall. After the two last horrors that she has witnessed, the Reader had been worried about what they would find at the Nest of Triesta. However, she is pleasantly surprised to see that the titan resting at the nest is fairly benign in appearance. Halfway submerged in the ever present magma of the basin, rests an inert figure of what appears to be a unicorn with the torso of a human. In a similar way to the Hulk of Ores’ titan, the source of this one’s demise is fairly obvious, as several large holes appear to have been punched through its body by enormous shimmering arrows. The Reader cannot even begin to speculate as to the source of such arrows, but she makes a note to educate herself through the book later on.

As she returns her view to the field, the Reader sees that Tamitha has once more removed her mask, directing her stare across the field at Xaxiana.

“I see you still oppose us, outcast, unable to let go of your failure and simply disappear to rot!”

She dons her mask again, taking wing as the stars begin to align.

“Watch yourself around the chasms, members of the Chastity.”

In the air, the purple-clad harp becomes an even more of an ominous figure.

“You may end up... _burnt_ .”

The Reader looks over at Xaxiana, and notices that the harp appears visibly shaken by Tamitha’s words. She sighs, wondering if she will be up to the task of following instructions in this state. The next moment, the Reader looks up to watch the stars gather overhead.

…

“Reader! You appear to be full of surprises as of late.”

The Voice greets her as usual, launching directly into its preamble as both triumvirates stand at the ready, waiting for the fall of the orb.

“Somehow you have found your way here, to the Nest of Triesta, and while the members of your triumvirate keep changing, it appears that only you remain a constant among them... Why you even managed to get rid of that obnoxious sap, I see!”

The Reader furrows her brow. Of course she is always present, as no one else can take her place. However, it seems that both the Voice and Tamitha now think that she has taken over Manley’s position, and she can’t help but worry about this having some repercussions in the future.

“Your adversaries this night shall be... the Essence! Winged terrors with a hatred for your old home. Can you keep them from achieving their malevolent goals? I wonder…”

The Reader places her chin in her hand. If the Voice is originating from the Commonwealth then it makes sense that he would be bothered by the presence of their enemies, such as the Highwing. She directs her gaze towards the shining pillar of light at the center of the field. The orb will fall… any second now…

“Begin!”

As the Rite commences, both triumvirates burst into a flurry of action. Against expectation, the Essence does not make immediate use of their airborne advantage, instead opting to position themselves around the central chasms. The Reader immediately notices that their movement is staggered, as Tamitha keeps stopping to allow her companions to advance alongside her, keeping their auras linked. It is a very careful strategy, one which does not risk leaving a gap, even if they think that their opponents are harmless. The Reader grits her teeth. That may be acceptable, but at some point the members of the Essence are going to have to make their own decisions without Tamitha’s direct input, and that is where she will find her openings.

<Avrec, feint a cast, I need to see how they react. Xaxiana, dash forward while Avrec is recovering, get in position to make a flight straight for their pyre.>

She watches Avrec implement the feint, running up and gesturing as if he is going to project his aura at the three harps. The Essence immediately splits up, one by one dashing off in different directions just before Avrec casually waves at them, stops his aura cast, and hops into a safe spot. The Reader immediately turns her attention to Xaxiana.

<Now go!>

She sees the harp pause for a moment before lunging forward, getting herself lined up to make a break towards the opposing pyre if the opportunity presents itself. Very quickly though, she finds that the Essence are repositioning themselves to cut off that venue of attack. The Reader sighs, realizing that Xaxiana had been correct in her description of their capabilities. She truly has never faced a triumvirate quite as well organized as this one. Still, she will have to keep up the pressure to prevent the Essence from gaining an edge before she has them figured out.

The next few minutes are a flurry of orders, feints, and careful maneuvering, with neither triumvirate willing to put themselves at a potential disadvantage by striking out. Tamitha has settled herself by their pyre, while the other two harps are trying to gain an edge around the center of the field to take control of the orb.

<Alright. Peyford, take up a position to defend the middle chasm. Avrec, try to leap over the nearest harp and head towards their end of the field.>

She watches everyone put the orders into action one at a time. The position she indicated for Peyford is the one that she figures will give him the highest possibility to intercept a flying harp. Avrec then sprints straight at one of the harps, crouching down to make his leap. The harp, expecting another feint, tries to ram him with her aura. The Reader smiles to herself as the harp falls right into her trap, flying underneath the leaping beggar. Her mistake is immediately punished by Peyford, who banishes the exposed harp with a well-timed aura-blast.

With one of the harps banished, the Reader suddenly has an opening she did not expect. Now all she needs is a distraction to keep Avrec from being banished.

<Xaxiana! I need you to fly directly at Tamitha.>

She can almost directly sense the harp’s reluctance, as Xaxiana pauses for a precious second before flying across the chasm towards the leader of the Essence. This catches Tamitha in a dilemma. Remain to protect the pyre and risk getting banished, or deal with Xaxiana and leave the pyre exposed. The Reader keeps count of every second as she sees Tamitha make the decision to take to the air to intercept Xaxiana.

<Xaxiana, land! Avrec, take care of the other harp!>

The Reader’s thoughts are nothing but short orders now, every moment micromanaged, all for the chance of a single dousing. As Xaxiana lands, ducking under Tamitha’s interception, she forces the Essence leader to turn around mid-air, while Avrec sprints forth. With Tamitha still in the air above a chasm, the other harp is helpless to do anything as a burst of pink aura banishes her.

<Peyford! Get the orb to Avrec.>

Immediately, the nomad leaps over the chasm and grabs the orb. The next second he has sent the orb over to Avrec, just as the first harp starts reforming in front of the pyre.

<Avrec! Crouch and look for their reaction.>

Avrec crouches down, preparing to either leap or sprint towards the pyre. The banished harp has just returned, and there is no time for Tamitha to give her an order. She has to guess what the beggar is doing on her own. Expecting a jump, the harp takes to the air, and the next moment Avrec kicks off the ground, sprinting underneath her directly into the Essence’s pyre.

“Avrec douses the flame!”

The Voice announces as Avrec strikes true, spinning around in the pyre and giving the Reader two thumbs up before vanishing. The Reader herself sighs in relief. She already feels exhausted, and the night has barely started. But now she has found a weakness in the Essence. Without a reader, they are reliant on someone giving orders, and no matter how disciplined their members are, if they have to make their own decisions they are more prone to faults. The goal is clear now, if Tamitha treats the Rites as a battle, the Reader is going to have to do the same. And in every battle she has read about, disrupting the chain of command is key.

As the next round commences, the Essence foregoes any hint of a defense. The Reader barely has time to guide Xaxiana around to get a clear chance at grabbing the orb before one of the harps swoops over the chasm. The next thing she sees, is the harp soaring on an updraft out of reach of Peyford’s attempt at interception, before swinging her entire body around and lobbing the orb straight into the Chastity’s pyre.

“Not much force behind that strike.” The Voice comments with a hint of disdain.

It is a glancing blow, but the move is enough to leave the Reader slightly shaken. She wasn’t even aware that such a display was possible during the Rites. Judging by the pleased laughter, she guesses that the harp who just scored is Shikara. Novel uses of the environment seem to be another thing for the Reader to keep an eye on in the future.

The Rite wears on, and continues to be a tough, closely matched battle. Almost every maneuver made by the Reader prompts a rapid response from the Essence, guided by either a wing gesture or a muffled shout from Tamitha. The Reader does her best to not make her strategies obvious, but after another couple mutual dousings, the leader of the Essence starts taking a very defensive position. The Reader gets the sense that Tamitha has caught on to her plan to keep her off the field as she starts directing the other two harps from their pyre.

Later, after another daring leap into the Essence’s pyre by Avrec, the Reader is surprised to see Tamitha once more removing her mask and staring across the field.

“What do you suppose you are achieving here, outcast?” She calls at Xaxiana. “Are you attempting to rob your former sisters of their chance at freedom, for your own selfish gain? After what you did, you will not be welcomed back by the Highwing Remnants! You’ll simply get thrown to the Commonwealth again, like the waste of plumes you are!”

As Tamitha dons her mask again, the Reader can see Xaxiana drop to the ground and slouch at this accusation. Whatever Tamitha is implying about her past, it is clearly striking right at Xaxiana’s emotional weak spots. It is certainly a way to interfere with your opposition, and technically allowed by the rules, she supposes. The Reader frowns, determined to make sure that it will not work this time.

<Xaxiana. If there is anyone here trying to get into your head, it’s Tamitha.>

She notices Xaxiana raising her head slightly, looking up at where the Reader is sitting. She continues.

<No matter what you have done, no matter why you want to go free, you deserve just as much of a chance at it as anyone else. And you certainly deserve it more than a backhanded, manipulating general like her.>

The Reader pauses for a moment, as Peyford also looks over at the slouched harp.

<Because I know why she just came out and said something like that. She’s worried that if you have your head in the right place, we can beat her. She’s worried that if we do our best, she will fail. So don’t let her shake you, Xaxiana. We can prevail in this together.>

At the end of the speech, Peyford walks over to Xaxiana and puts a hand on her shoulder. The two Rite-conductors look at each other, Peyford nods, and then they return to their positions. The Reader can still feel that the harp is worried, but Xaxiana does straighten up again and turns her head forward. For just a moment, the Reader wishes that she could see the expression on Tamitha’s face.

Her self-satisfaction quickly gives way to intense focus again as they continue with the Rite. The Chastity is still falling behind the Essence by a bit, and if they keep trading equal dousings in the way they have up until now, the Chastity will lose by a thin margin. They are going to have to land a direct blow this round, despite the disadvantage of Avrec being banished.

<Peyford, move a bit further towards their half of the field this time. Make yourself a target. Xaxiana, move forward as they try to take Peyford down, I’ll tell you when to stop so he can get out of the way. This will have to be timed perfectly.>

Once more, the Reader’s thoughts become a stream of commands and information for her companions. As Peyford puts himself in a risky position, Tamitha seems to take the bait. The two other harps of the Essence gradually advance to cut him off while Xaxiana carefully slips forward across the field.

<Peyford! Dodge now!>

She gives the command for Xaxiana to halt, and Peyford immediately leaps into the air, just in time for one of the Essence’s harps to pass underneath him while he lands in a moderately safe position. When the Reader turns her attention back to Xaxiana, she is already soaring high in the air, without the Reader’s input. Before she manages to tell her to land, she notices that Tamitha is scanning the field, searching for something. It seems that, while commanding the Essence to go for Peyford, she lost track of Xaxiana.

With a quick look across the field, the Reader decides to take advantage of the situation and deliver a surprise attack. Peyford does not have much time before the harps attempt to banish him again, but Xaxiana is practically on top of Tamitha.

<Dive! Now!>

This time there is not a moment of hesitation. Xaxiana, shielded by her aura, tucks her wings in and dives.

“Ohoh!”

The Reader does not even hear the Voice’s surprised reaction. The very instant that Xaxiana’s aura makes contact with Tamitha, she turns her mind to Peyford.

<Peyford, jump! Try to reach the orb!>

Once more, the nomad jumps into the air, but he collides with one of the two harps that was anticipating his route of escape. The harp is not as fast once the two of them hit the ground, however. While she waits a split second in case her commander has instructions for her, Peyford immediately launches an aura blast, banishing the harp standing between him and the orb. Before the remaining harp can react, he grabs the glowing sphere, immediately passing it to Xaxiana, who throws it into the Essence’s pyre with all her force.

“Yes!”

The Reader springs to her feet before she can contain herself. They are in the lead, with no one banished for the next round, and Xaxiana is more confident than she ever was before. They definitely can do this now.

The next round gives way to another beautiful performance. Between Xaxiana’s flight and Avrec’s unpredictable movements, the Reader manages to gain an early positional advantage. Then, by leaving what looks like a vulnerability, she manages to trick one of the harps into attempting a flight towards the Chastity’s pyre, only for Peyford to jump up and knock her out of the air, delivering the orb directly into Xaxiana’s wings. The Reader cannot quite tell whether Tamitha is losing her composure, or if her subordinates are failing to follow her orders. The only thing that she can imagine is that being in a pressured position like this should be nothing new for the skilled commander, but her ‘soldiers’ might be feeling the tension of potentially losing to what they consider an inferior triumvirate.

A few rounds later, the Chastity’s pyre is but a flickering flame, barely more than a candle in the middle of their sigil. However, as the Reader’s gaze slowly drifts over at the other side of the field, it turns out that the state of their pyre no longer matters. Xaxiana just struck the final glorious blow, snuffing out the Essence’s flame in a wonderful display of aerial maneuvering.

“And so, it is done!”

The Voice announces as the purple flame of the Essence vanishes into a cloud of smoke.

“The Chastity prevails. Though just barely. Both opponents appear to have fought valiantly this night.”

...

As the Voice ends out the Rite, the Reader falls down onto her back, exhausted. She can feel her heart beating rapidly as she clutches the Book of Rites close to her chest. From her prone position she glances in the direction of the wagon, spotting a figure observing the Rite. After a moment of squinting, she recognizes the familiar shape of Manley and wonders if he has been there the whole time.

She then shifts into a sitting position, seeking eye contact with the sap. Their eyes meet for just a moment, and the Reader gets up in an attempt to go meet him, wondering if he finally wants to talk to her. Before she manages to get far, however, something practically tackles her from behind, and she finds herself caught between Xaxiana’s wings, their faces uncomfortably close once again.

“Reader!” The harp almost screeches. “We did it! I can’t believe we did it!”

The Reader can not remember seeing the harp this excited before, she seems to be almost vibrating with joy. It is an uplifting change from her insecure demeanor before the Rite, and it makes the Reader almost feel justified in pushing her into this Rite. Almost.

“Obviously.” She confidently smiles back at her. “I told you so, didn’t I?”

But the Reader knows, at the back of her mind, that she was just as full of doubts and worries as Xaxiana at times. She glances over her shoulder, trying to spot Manley again, but he appears to have already left.


	17. Shattered Past

After the successful Rite at the Nest of Triesta, the Reader had as usual read the stars to find their next destination. She had found that they were headed west for a change, which would supposedly bring them out of the scorched lands of Black Basin and to their next landmark, the Glade of Lu. Learning this had raised the Reader’s spirits further, given her family’s affinity for the Sap Scribe. While the travel had been initially smooth, all of a sudden the wagon had come to a stop after getting stuck in a particularly rough patch of ground.

Soon enough, the Reader is trying to make herself useful in their attempts to get the wagon moving again, as eager as everyone else to get back on the road. It takes a lot of pushing and pulling, but eventually the wagon comes loose, mostly thanks to some clever use of levers proposed by Avrec. Sighing with relief, the Reader starts coiling up one of the ropes that they had used in the dislodging effort, when all of a sudden she hears Xaxiana calling out to her.

“Hey. Reader!”

With a strained grunt, the Reader stands up, throwing the rope into a pile before looking around for the harp. Strangely, she does not appear to be anywhere in sight, yet Xaxiana’s voice is even closer the next time she calls out.

“Looking the wrong way!”

The next thing the Reader knows, she has been lifted off the ground by two strong talons, carefully wrapped around her arms. A scream catches in her throat, but before she has time to start fully panicking, Xaxiana has deposited her on top of the wagon’s roof.

“Ahaha! Your expression is just priceless, Reader!”

The next moment, the harp lands next to her, calling down to the people on the ground.

“We’re all settled in up here! You can get the wagon rolling now!”

This prospect prompts the Reader to cling on to the closest thing available, which happens to be the wagon’s rickety chimney. Finally, she manages to find her voice again, staring wide-eyed at the harp.

“W-what do you think you’re doing, Xaxiana?!”

The harp briefly grins at her as the wagon shifts underneath them, continuing its bumpy ride across Black Basin, which prompts the Reader to cling on even harder to the chimney. When Xaxiana finally answers it is with a hint of melancholy.

“I can’t really fly properly any more, Reader. Travelling on the roof is the closest I can get to regularly re-experience that feeling, and I thought I’d share it with you.”

While the Reader admits that that is a fairly sweet explanation, she feels compelled to point out one blatant flaw in it.

“I’m not a harp, Xaxiana. At this speed, at this height…” She nervously glances down the side of the wagon, and the sheer cliff-face they are currently travelling alongside. “I don’t think the question is if the fall would kill me, but rather how fast…”

Xaxiana smiles reassuringly.

“I won’t let you fall, Reader, not after your performance at the last Rite.” The Reader squints her eyes and cannot help but wonder how reassured she would have been had they lost back then.

Their travel continues on unhindered, and the Reader gradually starts to peel her face away from the chimney in order to admire the landscape alongside Xaxiana. It is a very different way to experience the Downside, indeed, and while she might have preferred to feel a little more secure, the breeze up on the roof does help combat the sweltering heat of Black Basin. After a while, Xaxiana shuffles a bit closer to the Reader and speaks up in a low tone.

“I have to admit, Reader, that I had another reason for bringing you up here. Actually, I wanted a word with you in private.”

The Reader shoots the harp a confused look in response, both regarding what she just said, and the serious tone with which it was delivered. It all seems a bit unusual...

“Xaxiana, you do realize that we could have had that private talk on the ground, right?” She gives another glance at the chasms below them. “Which would make me less nervous, for the record.”

“Well, it’s…” The harp hesitates, struggling with her words.

The Reader, sensing that this may be a rather serious issue, relents in her criticism of the harp’s choice of location, instead nodding for her to continue. It takes Xaxiana a while to settle in, and after several false starts and inaudible mutters, she finally seems to find her footing, figuratively speaking.

“I… don’t quite know how to approach this, Reader.” There is a brief pause. “Do you recall what Tamitha said during the Rite?” Xaxiana awkwardly waves a wing. “Could you… tell me what that really made you think?”

The Reader blinks at the harp, not having expected this turn in the conversation. After a moment of thinking she tries to smile at Xaxiana, though it comes more as a strained grin, due to still clinging to the wagon’s chimney.

“I think I already told you, didn’t I? No matter what you did, no matter why you want to go back, we’re all the same down here. Not much reason to hang on to the past, is there? What matters are your actions in the present, and so far you’ve proven loyal and dependable, Xaxiana, even if perhaps you do have a… curious sense of humor.”

The Reader lets out a nervous laugh, squeezing the chimney. Xaxiana sighs in response and her face appears to fall a bit as she studies her plumage for a moment.

“I’d… really like for you to genuinely see me as trustworthy. Though I have to say, Reader, it’s a bit difficult for me to feel really secure while knowing that I’m still keeping secrets. That’s why I’d rather have you know what I did to get exiled.”

The Reader tries to speak up and tell her that that is honestly not needed, but Xaxiana raises her wing to cut her off.

“It’ll also help me feel more comfortable in the Rites, knowing that you won’t stumble upon something without me wanting you to. I know you say you can’t do that but… us Highwing have stories about readers, a bit too much to get into right now...”

This leaves the Reader with a perplexed look on her face, but she concedes.

“Well, I’m a captive audience...” She jokingly says while gesturing at the empty space around her.

Xaxiana chuckles lightly and nods before gazing out over the broken landscape of the basin. The Reader listens intently as Xaxiana begins speaking.

“I used to be a talon on the Bloodborder, as you know, so there’s a lot of baggage that comes with that already. But... I obviously must have made some mistake to make even the harps hate me, right? Well, that would be putting it lightly…” Xaxiana smiles grimly as she recalls.

“It was the night of a fairly ordinary operation. We were meant to gain some ground in a nearby forest, clear out the opposition, war stuff, y’know. Well, I felt that we were wasting a lot of time for no gain and that I had a better plan than my commanders, so I broke up from my squad.” The harp shrugs. “I was pretty arrogant back then, always thinking I knew best...”

“So anyways, I’d scouted out several camps spread throughout the forest, something our commanders seemed to have missed. I didn’t want us ending up surrounded, so I had come up with a plan to set several little fires around the forest to distract them and cause confusion among the Commonwealth ranks. It didn’t work out well… it was kind of a disaster really, ahah…” The harp pauses for a long time at this point. The Reader is almost about to say something when Xaxiana finally sighs and continues.

“The fires got out of control and spread throughout the forest. The target, the Commonwealth camps… even several harps got caught in the flames, making the entire plan fail.” She clenches her teeth.

“I… flew away as the fire spread. The Highwing found me cowering in some nearby cliffs a few days later.” She chuckles weakly at the thought. “When they brought me back, I was accused of cowardice, insubordination, treason… I forgot the exact words, really, there were a lot of charges… And I didn’t help my case by being a stubborn moron about it… arguing that they just didn’t appreciate my contribution, and that their failure to inform us about the other camps in the forest was part of why I had done as I did.” There is another extended period of silence. The Reader makes no attempt to interrupt it this time.

“Then they informed me that the camps were… not military encampments. They… were actually civilians, young, old, wounded… We hadn’t been briefed about them because they were never going to be targets for us.” She lets out a low bitter laugh. “Even after they told me this, I kept trying to make the point that I had been correct. ‘The young will grow up to fight us’ I said. ‘The wounded will heal to return to the front’ I argued. I didn’t have a response as to why I got my sisters caught in it… or why I fled the moment it got out of hand...” She gives a somber smile.

“It didn’t take many years of reflection to realize that all that arguing was pointless. I was fated to be an outcast the moment I set those fires, Reader. The rest, you can probably guess, there’s only one possible path for a lone harp. Hide for as long as you can, then pray that when the Commonwealth finds you you’re not killed on the spot.” She waves her wing in a circle.

“Of course, they found me, I got exiled, now I’m here. I suppose I’m lucky that the Commonwealth didn’t know I was responsible for the fire or I might have not been able to tell you the story today.” She looks over at the Reader, watching for her reaction.

The Reader had been listening intently, and is caught off guard by the sudden end of the story. On the one hand, she stands by what she said earlier, and does not want to judge Xaxiana for whatever happened before her exile. On the other hand, Xaxiana just admitted to what most people would label a most heinous crime, even if it was unintentional.

“Do you regret it? I mean, looking back at it?” She softly asks.

Xaxiana looks at her before letting out a weak chuckle. “Obviously I wouldn’t do it again, though that might just be the consequences talking.”

Her voice turns more serious. “You’ve seen my attitude towards the lives of others, Reader. I still don’t regret the losses I caused to the Commonwealth, and being exiled by them has not done much to change my mind on that front.”

Xaxiana pauses for a moment, tilting her head. “Though... meeting you has made me start reconsidering...” She gives the Reader an inscrutable look and shrugs. “Anyway, I do know that I regret acting rashly, then denying my own responsibility in said actions. I know I will never run away like that again.”

The Reader nods in response to this. She is no more compelled to defend the Commonwealth than Xaxiana is, and a willingness to take responsibility is a strong sign of growth, regardless of what one’s past may be.

“That’s all I need to know then, Xaxiana. In all honesty, hearing this makes me glad that we are not in the Commonwealth right now. Perhaps that means we can actually be friends rather than enemies.”

As the Reader finishes her sentiment, she is certain that she just heard the harp let out an amused snort. After another look she realizes that Xaxiana has covered her face with a wing.

“Perhaps you’re right, Reader. Though I usually don’t make friends with your kind…” She lowers her wing, a small smile still playing on her lips. “But... Maybe you’re not so bad for a wingless. Maybe.”

The Reader is not quite sure how to respond to that, so she lets the conversation lull into a bit of an awkward silence as she looks out over the surroundings again. While Xaxiana had been telling her story, the wagon had been making good progress, and the environment around them has now begun to change. The black cliffs and molten pools slowly seem to be giving way to sparse vegetation and gentle slopes. Up ahead, she spots an enormous forest, and soon enough they find themselves surrounded by towering trees and dense foliage.

While the Reader finds the change of scenery welcome, Xaxiana’s mood seems to sink. Presumably forests do not hold very fond memories for her, given the story she just told. Feeling that the silence may have gone on long enough, the Reader tries to restart the conversation.

“So... Does Manley know about your past? I imagine that he wouldn’t be very amused by the idea of an entire forest burning down.” She manages an awkward chuckle.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Xaxiana answers rather bluntly before falling silent again. For a moment the Reader is worried that perhaps bringing the conversation back to her past had been a bad idea, but then Xaxiana suddenly lets out a laugh.

“Ahaha! I guess he would burn pretty well! Given how dry he is all the time!”

The harp nudges her with a wing, and she manages to force out a laugh of her own. The Reader is really starting to wonder if there is some nuance to harp humor which she will never understand.

“But… you wouldn’t do that, right? Even though you dislike him.” The Reader asks with a slight hint of concern.

Xaxiana pats her on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Even if I wanted to, Rite rules prevent me from doing so, and I don’t need another form of exile on top of what I already have.”

The Reader senses another interesting direction to take the conversation.

“Speaking of the Rites, how did you end up in the Chastity? I mean, why not any other non-Essence triumvirate?”

Xaxiana sighs and leans back, maintaining an impressive level of balance on top of the rickety wagon.

“Well, it’s not as exciting as the rest of my past, but I guess we’re not that close to stopping anyways.”

The Reader nods for her to continue and the harp quickly obliges.

“I had spent a couple years wandering the Downside already, unable to live with the harps down here for… obvious reasons.” She mutters.

“Anyway, I don’t really know how long it had been, but one day I heard these rumors about the Rites, and them being a way out of the Downside. I still hadn’t really let go of my stubborn desire to prove myself right so I set out in search of a triumvirate, in the hopes that one day I could return home and show the harps that cast me out how much of a reliable talon I was.” She chuckles grimly, seemingly amused by her younger self.

“Well, I’m still here so you can see how well that went. Manley ended up finding me while I was looking around, and he offered me a spot in the Chastity. I was thrilled at first! Getting in had been so easy, and he was even making additional promises about how he had contacts which would make my return all so much better than if I joined any other triumvirate.” Xaxiana rolls her eyes, glancing at the Reader.

“I was younger and more naïve, alright? It even took me a while to figure out the true nature of the Chastity... How Manley would bribe people to join him with empty promises, and how everyone would eventually end up leaving when they realized that all that mattered to him was his own liberation.” She sighs and lowers her head.

“But for me, it was my only shot. I guess it became pretty obvious to that sap how desperate I was, because he started lording it over me. Any disagreement just turned into ‘oh I guess you don’t want your liberation, hmm?’ or ‘perhaps you should think about how replaceable you are, Xaxiana.’”

She makes a retching noise after her fairly accurate imitation of Manley. She then looks to the Reader and raises an eyebrow.

“Let me throw that question right back at you, Reader. Why are you in the Chastity? Honestly, I feel like any other triumvirate would appreciate a reader such as you among their ranks, even the Nightwings, if they were still around.”

The Reader is so taken by surprise that she ends up spontaneously laughing.

“Xaxiana, you were right there. I don’t even remember who carried me into the wagon, but if I hadn’t stayed with you all I would have died on the spot there, in the Sandfolds.” She waves her hand around in the air. “By now, I’m just enjoying guiding you in the Rites and... I guess I’m growing attached to you all…” She awkwardly coughs. “Besides, what kind of person would I be if I abandoned you after saving my life?”

Xaxiana chuckles, seemingly more relaxed. “Oh yeah, didn’t have much choice to start with, I guess. Gotta say though, you’re fitting in pretty nicely, even figuring out how to handle Manley. The way you make him lose his temper all the time is honestly really satisfying after six years of his endless babbling.”

At this, the Reader frowns and lowers her eyes. She had almost managed to push that issue out of her mind by now. Xaxiana’s expression darkens a bit as well, and she lowers her voice while shuffling closer to the Reader once more.

“In all seriousness, Reader, I think you should be careful. I haven’t seen him this annoyed ever before, and I’m not sure if he might go beyond his usual blaming and complaining if you push him far enough.”

The Reader pauses to consider her warning for a moment. For certain, Manley can be a manipulative and unpleasant person, going by Xaxiana’s story and her own early experiences with him. However, she can not forget the fact that he kept giving her chances even after her unfortunate first Rites, which at least indicates that he values her as a reader on some level. If things had not turned out in such an unfortunate way after the Rite against the Pyrehearts, they might have been getting along by now.

“Thank you, Xaxiana, but I think I know how to handle people like him if things turn bad. And even then, I don’t think he’s so bad that he’d try to do something out of hand.” The Reader is not even sure what he could do against her. After all, his influence lies in the Commonwealth, and she has no remaining ties back there.

Xaxiana grumbles.

“I’m just telling you, Reader, if I had been as angry as he seems right now, I would already have considered getting rid of you. Probably while making it look like an accident...”

The Reader swallows, then awkwardly looks away from Xaxiana, inspecting the thick foliage around them. She can not believe that the harp just implied that her life may be at risk. However, while the Reader did not get the sense that Manley was the sort of person who would kill someone, Xaxiana has known him for far more years than she has. Just a few minutes later, the harp speaks up again.

“You seem to be taking to this whole roof travel thing though. You’re barely holding on to the chimney any more.”

It seems that the Reader, while lost in thought, had drastically loosened her grip on the chimney, sitting fairly comfortably on the roof by now.

“Ah… Yes, I suppose it’s a pretty nice way to travel, at least in the right locations.”

Just as she finishes her sentence, the wagon jolts to a sudden stop in its characteristic way, sending the Reader scrambling for the chimney with a yelp, and prompting a guffaw from Xaxiana.

“Ahaha! Maybe not as used to it as I thought, Reader.” The harp stands up, looking up at the sky. “Looks like we’re stopping for the night, let me help you down.”

A slightly less panicked flight later, and the Reader is crouched down on the ground, appreciating the sensation of a firm floor beneath her feet, when Peyford approaches her.

“Good Evening, Reader.” He begins with a faint smile on his face. “I hope that your trip was pleasant.”

“Eheh…” The Reader chuckles weakly. “It was a new experience, but I think that I prefer the safety of the wagon’s interior.”

“Indeed, I have to admit that I never tried to travel alongside Xaxiana in that manner.” Peyford extends a hand to help the Reader stand up, which she accepts. “But I see that you’re already finding ways to connect with the triumvirate.”

The Reader scratches the back of her head, glancing around. “Well… I didn’t really seek that out... But it was an enlightening talk, definitely.”

Now that she is on the ground, the Reader finally takes a proper look at the forest around her. No matter which direction she turns, the vegetation around them is dense enough to block out any vision further than a few meters away. Despite this unnatural density of trees and other plants, she gets a sense of tranquility that she has not experienced anywhere else in the Downside.

“This place is strangely pleasant. I almost wouldn’t mind getting lost in this forest for a bit...” The Reader casually comments.

Peyford nods.

“It is lucky that you enjoy the surroundings. The Wakingwood is home to our hideaway whenever we are not out chasing after the stars.”

The Reader brightens up a little at this.

“Really? That sounds pretty nice.”

Peyford smiles at her.

“What else would you expect from a triumvirate lead by a sap? Perhaps your comfort with this area is another sign that us finding you was indeed the work of the Scribes.”

Peyford pats her on the shoulder and turns to head back into the wagon. The Reader nods at him, staying outside for a little longer, watching whatever little starlight filters through the dense branches overhead. Eventually, she too turns to head inside the warmly lit wagon for the night.


	18. Old Acquaintances under the Stars

The remaining trip through Wakingwood had been uneventful, and the Reader was happy to sit by one of the wagon’s windows and watch the foliage pass by. During that time, Peyford had taken the chance to share what little useful knowledge he had about the upcoming field. All he could really tell her was that it can be unpredictable, and that obstacles will keep appearing as the Rite progresses.

Beyond the features of the field, the Reader does not get to strategize much, as their opponents for the upcoming Rite are a mystery so far. Although, judging by the book, there is one triumvirate they have yet to face beyond the Nightwings, making them a likely candidate. However, when the Reader starts paging through the book to find the relevant section, the wagon comes to its usual jerking halt, and Peyford announces that they have arrived at their destination.

“Alright then.” The Reader nods and closes the book. “Gather everyone at the table and we’ll discuss our strategy.” She calls back to Peyford and supposes that they will just have to be ready for anything.

Soon, all of the triumvirate, minus Manley, is gathered around the eating table once more, and the Reader clears her throat.

“Dear Chastity members.” She begins, adopting her official stance as she feels befits a triumvirate reader. “Once again, it is time to discuss strategies. Unfortunately, we have little to no information about our opponents, but I still would like to offer my idea for who could conduct. Of course, I’m happy to hear other thoughts, but my suggestion for this Rite would be-”

However, before she can finish her sentence, the door to the living quarters swings open, revealing Manley, dressed in the raiments of the Rites.

“Why, Peyford, Avrec, and myself. Am I correct?” He announces, cutting into the Reader’s explanation. The sap is all smiles as usual, but his slow look around the wagon clearly turns into a pointed glare as it passes by the Reader and Xaxiana.

Rather than replying, the Reader simply nods quietly and sits back down. While that was nowhere near the composition she had intended, she is not going to start a fight about the triumvirate’s leadership, especially not now that Manley is willing to take that role once more. Given how she has been taking up his place for the last two Rites, openly challenging him in this situation is likely to cause a lot more trouble than it is worth.

“As for our opponents on this lovely night, well, unless my count is off, we should be facing the Tempers, should we not?” He shoots another smile around the wagon, seemingly mocking the Reader with the knowledge that she had not had time to figure it out.

“I hope that you will do your best to not embarrass our reputation too much, mhm? Now come along, come along. The sun is setting.” With that, Manley strides out of the wagon, strapping his mask onto his face as he leaves.

The Reader can not do much other than shrug at the triumvirate after this development. Peyford and Avrec head to get changed, while the Reader, Tidemont, and Xaxiana follow Manley out into the darkening surroundings.

As they approach the Glade of Lu in silence, the Reader decides to take the opportunity to admire the scenery of the landmark. The glade feels quite serene during the night, as the gentle starlight filters through the pink leaves of a massive tree. It takes the Reader a moment to pinpoint why it gives her such a sense of calm, but finally she realizes it. Unlike other landmarks, it takes her a moment to find the titan of the glade, as it is not the primary feature of the location. Underneath the central tree, smothered by its roots, lies a many-headed creature, seemingly composed of brambles and thorns, which appears to be no more than an empty husk. The Reader finds this quite curious, but she has to assume that perhaps the scholarly Scribe came up with some ingenious method for subduing a titan without destroying it through sheer force. Such a feat would be rather in character for the sap of a hundred minds, and she resolves to read all about it in the book after the Rite.

Soon after she finishes her analysis, Peyford and Avrec join them, and the triumvirate steps onto the field where the Rite will be conducted. Manley stays in the lead as they may have expected, while his cohorts and the Reader follow behind him at a respectful distance. As they reach the center of the open glade, she finally realizes that they are the first to arrive, for a change.

The Reader is in the middle of musing about whether they should expect a surprising entrance or not, when their foes, a demon, a bog-crone, and a wyrm, suddenly appear at the edge of the glade and stride onto the field. Their dark green and blue robes must have blended into the foliage until they left the cover of the trees. As they get closer, she realizes that they are not so much striding as… well… the only word the Reader can think of is ‘swaggering’. She has to wonder how sure of themselves they must be, to arrive to the Rite in such a brazen manner. When they pass the indicated spot for their sigil, the demon in front throws it into place with one hand before moving forward to greet the Chastity.

It is about then that the Reader realizes that this is the first time that she has seen a demon up close. Sure, there had been one present during their shared hallucination once she opened the Book of Rites, but she had been busy being a floating disembodied guide during that time. Now one is standing right before her, nearly towering over Manley, the ground shuddering with their heavy footsteps. Finally, they stop, addressing Manley in a deep, imposing voice.

“Evening Manley, glory to the Scribes and all that.” Not standing on ceremony in the least, the demon reaches up to remove his mask. “Lil’ wyrmy back there told us the stars are gonna be a bit late tonight, but we’d already finished our warm-ups so here we are. What’s new, ya old bastard?”

The Reader is not entirely sure what to make of the demon once his mask is off. His skin appears to be a light tone of red, while two large spiraling horns grow out of the sides of his head. One and a half horn, she immediately corrects herself, as the left one seems to have been broken off. A pair of glowing yellow eyes peek out from under some rather oversized eyebrows, which do nothing to draw the attention away from his massive square jaw, the tattoos covering his neck and chin, or the ring pierced through his nose in the manner one would do for a bull. Somehow, all of these eye-catching details still do not manage to overcome the absurdity of his hairstyle. Frankly, the way it protrudes out above his face farther than his chin leaves the Reader at a loss for words as to how to describe it.

While the Reader had been thinking about the demon’s odd appearance, she must have missed Manley’s indignant huffing, since by the time she returns back to reality the sap is busy explaining their recent successes. Although the Reader does note that he takes care to avoid mentioning his personal non-involvement in said successes.

Halfway through the sap’s monologue, around the point where boredom has led the demon to completely zone out, Avrec steps forward, going so far as to shove Manley aside.

“Bloody Scribes, ah knew ah’d seen dat bonkers hairdo before! Iggy! Izzat you?!” He exclaims.

“What is this insolence?! We were in the middle of a conversation here, I will have you know!” Manley, of course, immediately protests in a most offended manner.

It takes the demon a moment to snap out of whatever he had been thinking of while ignoring Manley, but as soon as he does, his eyes refocus on the beggar, though his expression is thoroughly confused.

“Ach, right!” Avrec struggles for a moment with his mask before getting it off. “Ya gotta remember ol’ Avrec. Ya threw me out o’ that tavern or somethin’ about ah…” He counts on his fingers. “Ah’d say eleventyfive times or so.”

It takes a moment, but eventually there’s a flash of recognition in the demon’s eyes and he lets out a roaring laugh. “Bwahahah! Oh you, I remember you, sure. Avrec, was it? Horns of Soliam... how’d a harmless layabout like you end up down here?”

“I would appreciate it if-” Manley tries to speak up, but is immediately cut off by Avrec again.

“Tried ta get tha wrong fella to pay fer a drink, ya know how it goes, eh?” The two men laugh it up once more while the members of the Chastity keep getting more confused, and frustrated in Manley’s case. The Reader notes that Peyford seems particularly weirded out by the exchange, for some reason.

“So what’s with tha horns and all eh, Iggy? Sure ya were a big fella but that’s o’erdoing it a bit, don’t ’cha think?” Avrec continues on, while the Reader looks up to the sky, wondering how long it will be until the stars finally decide to align and end this banter.

“Hmph.” Iggy chuckles. “I think stuff like that just happens down here after a while. Oh right, changed my name a while ago. Go by Ignarius nowadays, seems to fit in better with the new look.” The demon Ignarius, who, according to Avrec, was formerly known as Iggy, sniffs and scratches his chin, scowling at the indignant-looking Manley. “So why the Chastity? Don’t need me tellin’ that you don’t fit in there, do I?”

Avrec laughs before suddenly reaching over and grabbing the Reader around the shoulders, pulling her into a tight squeeze. “Long story that.” He begins as the Reader lets out a squeak of protest. “But basically, this lass ‘ere is the reason.”

Ignarius snorts and shakes his head after studying the Reader for a bit.

“One of those noble types? I thought someone like you would have better taste than that.”

“Excuse me?!” The Reader swings between indignation and confusion, as Peyford lets out an awkward cough, and she can swear that she heard the crone behind Ignarius suppressing a giggle. The Reader tries to shake Avrec off, but he just holds her tighter and laughs.

“Gahah! No, not like that. Yesee, she saved me life an’ offered a place to stay. Also she’s alright to talk to, when there’s nobody else around.” He lowers his voice, but nowhere near enough to conceal what he is saying. “Bit of a bossy bookworm sometimes though, eh...”

“Ahem!” The Reader once more tries to get a word in edgewise, particularly as she heard Manley mutter something when her ‘bossiness’ was mentioned.

She has no luck, however, as Ignarius lets out another chuckle. “Bossy? With that hair? I can’t imagine she gets much time to order people around if she has to keep brushing those curls every day.”

Before the two men get another chance to laugh it up, the Reader calls out in frustration. “That’s rich coming from someone with a loaf of hair stuck on his head! Now, can we start this Rite or are you two going to prattle on about me all night?!”

There is another laugh, but Ignarius raises an approving eyebrow. “Aha, so she’s got some guts at least.” The demon then turns back towards his own triumvirate, waving over his shoulder. “Have fun, miss boss. Don’t give Avrec too hard of a time when we stomp you.”

“Ugh!” The Reader then pushes on Avrec with all her strength, breaking loose from his grip and stomping off to her vantage point without another word to the triumvirate.

As she leaves, the Reader can hear Manley pipe up with a final word. “If you’re going to treat the Rites as some frivolous game for you to waste away, perhaps it would be much better if you just stood aside and let us prevail, hmph!”

Ignarius just lets out a guffaw in response as everyone takes their positions in front of their pyres. Finally, the stars seem to have decided it is time to align, and the Reader settles in to focus on the Rite.

…

“Reader!”

The Reader grits her teeth as the Voice joins in to spectate the proceedings. At least up here at her vantage point she is mostly safe from inane ramblings, unless her _friend_ in the sky is feeling particularly chatty.

“You have come so far to make it here, Reader, as your triumvirate now stands upon the Glade of Lu… Oh! And I note that your leader has chosen to make a triumphant return to honor his chosen Scribe.”

The Reader rolls her eyes. She can not be entirely certain why Manley suddenly feels like he needs to conduct again, though it is most likely that he has finally recovered from the sea journey and whatever issues he had with Black Basin.

“Your opponents for tonight are... the Tempers! I trust that their previous accomplishments make it so that they need no further introduction.”

The Reader cannot suppress a huff. Certainly they need no introduction by now, seeing as they spent the last ten minutes chatting away about nonsense before the Rite. She shakes her head and tries to clear the bitter thoughts from her mind. She cannot let an opposing team get inside her head, for all she knows that may even be their intention.

Very soon, the orb falls between the triumvirates, but before the Reader can give any orders, Ignarius steps forward and removes his mask again.

“Hey Avrec!” He hollers across the field. “Seein’ as this won’t take too long, you should come hang out with us afterwards! We’ll have some fun and I can introduce you to some real women!”

The Reader can feel the implied jab at her all the way from the field as she glares at the demon putting his mask back on. She is really not sure if he has a problem with her appearance, her clothing, or her attitude, but being discounted as ‘not a real woman’ stung a bit more than she might have expected. At least for someone as disinterested in love affairs as she is.

She sighs and turns her attention back to the field. There, she is surprised to find that there appears to be another distraction waiting for her, in the form of Avrec. The beggar, in the middle of the Rite, seems to have decided that it is a good idea to run over to the edge of the field, jumping up and down in an attempt to catch the Reader’s attention. As soon as she looks over at him, he calls out to her enthusiastically.

“Ey! Ey lass! Izzat allowed? Cannae hang out like that after tha Rite?”

The Reader furrows her brow before responding.

“Why are you asking me, Avrec? We have a Rite to conduct, you know?”

Avrec scratches his head, looking sheepish. “Well, ah just thought, seein’ as tha triumvirate is called ‘tha Chastity’ an’ all, I had ta ask before ah forgot. In case it’s against tha rules, ye know?”

The Reader sputters at the beggar’s implication, her face turning red as she shouts back at him.

“Avrec! Get back to your spot! You’re keeping everyone-”

That’s when she notices that while she has been conversing with Avrec, the Rite has been going on in the background. And with Avrec jumping up and down to get her attention, the rest of the Chastity has not had a chance to get into any useful positions, allowing Ignarius to simply stroll forward and pick up the orb. The Reader has barely enough time to groan in frustration before the demon takes a short leap over the blatant hole in their defenses left by Avrec, easily landing in their pyre. Annoyance then turns into full-blown frustration as Ignarius spins in the flames, pointing straight back at her in a very taunting manner before disappearing.

It takes a lot of the Reader’s self-control to not curse the Scribes as she shouts back down at Avrec.

“Just get back into the Rite, and stop asking me stupid questions, Avrec!”

The beggar holds his hands up and calls over his shoulder. “Bossy type, told yeh!” Though as he turns around to look for Ignarius, he realizes that the demon is already gone. “Ah… whoops?”

With the first round of the Rite over in less than a minute, and a thorough amount of nonsense out of the way, the Reader can finally focus on conducting the Rite properly. The first thing she realizes is that the field appears to have spontaneously sprouted several masses of thorny roots, severely restricting the conductors’ movements. This may be a notable advantage for Manley, given his large presence, but it does make the Reader wish she had Xaxiana for her added mobility.

When it comes to the Tempers, now that the Reader gets a proper look at them, there is no question that they are skilled. Even with Ignarius banished, the crone and wyrm are holding their own quite well. Without as much as a word, the two of them seem to have realized that Manley’s large aura is the biggest issue to them, as their quick movements let them rather easily outmaneuver Peyford and Avrec. Thankfully, Manley appears comfortable in this field, and while he is acting far more aggressively than the Reader would like, he is putting up a strong defense against the Tempers’ fancy maneuvers.

However, the Chastity’s tactics in general are… sloppy. That would be the word that comes to the Reader’s mind, at least. She relays what she notices about the Tempers to her companions, but she already knows that trying to order Manley around will be met with a stone wall of unresponsiveness. Still, she manages to keep the other two conductors supplied with plans and contingencies for whenever Manley is either banished or otherwise leaving them some room to move.

Eventually, to everyone’s surprise, the Chastity manages to slip around the wide-arching aura casts of the crone, getting them just enough of an opening for Avrec to jump into the flame of the Tempers.

“Avrec plunges into the pyre!” The Voice announces triumphantly.

The Reader uses the brief pause to wipe some sweat off her brow. As if it was not enough that they are against a highly skilled triumvirate, she also has to fight the uphill battle of managing Manley and his refusal to follow plans.

Now that she has a spare moment, the Reader also gets a chance to pin down what makes the Tempers feel so different to her, compared to their last tough opponents, the Essence. It seems like, even though Ignarius appears to be the official leader of the triumvirate, there is no one shouting orders among the three of them. The members of the Tempers seem to be very well acquainted with each other, and their behavior during the Rites strangely reminds the Reader of the Dissidents. Although compared to the cur triumvirate, they are far less chaotic and more focused on prevailing than on embarrassing their opponents.

With Ignarius back on the field, the Reader is struggling even harder to find an opening for the triumvirate to make use of. When even more thorns invade the glade, Manley’s constant maneuvering starts becoming more of a detriment, and she feels like the Chastity would be far better served by him simply projecting his sapling and holding his position.

When Manley finally allows Avrec some space to make a break for the orb, somehow Ignarius is already there, snatching the orb up with a quick dash in front of the beggar. Sensing an opportunity, Avrec tries to run into the suddenly defenseless demon for an easy banishment.

“Think fast!” Ignarius cries out, surprisingly tossing the orb into the beggar’s arms. There, as usual, the orb instantly absorbs Avrec’s aura.

Avrec barely has time to say “Ay thank-” before the demon regains his own aura and immediately banishes him. The Reader can do nothing but groan, although she does make note of the tactic for future use.

In the next few rounds, the Chastity’s pyre is doused repeatedly. With the thorns encroaching, it becomes harder for Ignarius to move around Manley, but it also lets the crone make use of her rapid pounces to make her way around the field faster than either Peyford or Avrec can manage. As the Rite wears on and the Tempers continue dancing around them, the Reader can feel the morale of her companions falter. It is not helped by the Reader trying to split her attention between analyzing the Tempers, keeping track of the changing obstacles, guiding her companions, _and_ accounting for Manley. The first hint that she is not paying enough attention is that Peyford starts tripping over the ever changing thorns, due to the Reader not giving him precise enough descriptions of the field.

When the one-sided Rite starts nearing its end, Avrec appears to be the only triumvirate member who is still even remotely enjoying himself. Manley keeps trying to control the field with his suboptimal sapling placements, and Peyford has taken up a position near the pyre where he is spending his time flipping through the book of Rites, occasionally leaning in to take a closer look at its pages. The Reader feels similarly surrendered, unable to get either Avrec or Manley to comply with any of her strategies, and both Peyford and her know that the nomad can not accomplish much on his lonesome. The Reader is tempted to throw her book at someone in frustration, but she is not sure at whom.

A few stumbling, frustrating, and ultimately pointless rounds later, the flame of the Chastity is struck its final blow, once more dealt personally by Ignarius.

“And so it ends.” The Voice plainly states as the last cinders of the Chastity’s pyre disappear into smoke. “The Tempers prevail, although the outcome was never much in doubt.”

The Voice’s derision is not doing much to help the Reader’s mood as she stands back up and heads down to join her triumvirate.

...

“‘Ey Avrec!” Suddenly, as the triumvirate is all joined, Ignarius calls out from the distance. “If you want to get anything done in the Rites in the future, come find us! We’ll have a spot for ya once I regain my freedom!”

“Well, we can still hang out- agh!” Avrec’s response is promptly cut off by the Reader grabbing him by the ear and forcibly dragging him off the field.

“Truly disappointing, hmm.” Manley comments as they return to the wagon, giving his triumvirate a condescending look before disappearing inside the wagon.

The Reader simply huffs and shakes her head. “You all head inside, I’m going to go read the stars. I don’t even want to think about all the things that went wrong today.”

Avrec just gives her an awkward wave before heading inside, followed by Peyford who nods quietly at the Reader. Once she is finally alone, the Reader finds a suitable opening in the trees and turns her head to the skies.

The stars are shining as usual, but none of them seem to stand out. For some reason, it feels as if the Scribes have no directions for them anymore.


	19. Lost Woods

The first thing on the Reader’s agenda next morning is to go looking for Peyford. The silence of the stars had bothered her all night, and she desperately needs someone to confide in, without appearing as if she has lost her use for the Triumvirate. The orderly nomad is, without question, the best option for this, as he has proven both reliable, knowledgeable, and a good listener. Perhaps he will have some piece of information which will help with putting her mind at ease.

He can be found, like most days, in the wagon’s common room, where he is busy folding and organizing the triumvirate’s raiments. As she enters, Peyford looks up and greets her.

“Good morning, Reader.” He smiles faintly, although the smile fades into a concerned expression as he notices her worried expression and awkward fidgeting. “Is something the matter?”

The Reader spends a moment considering how to approach him, and ultimately settles on simply being upfront.

“It’s the stars… I-I can’t read them any more. I tried last night but they were completely silent… Peyford, I have no idea where the next Rite is going to take place…”

She tenses up and looks away, preparing herself for the inevitable disappointment that she is sure will follow. However, Peyford simply responds in his usual calm tone.

“Ah right, I suppose someone should have told you that that’s normal. We’re at the end of a cycle, after all.”

She looks back at him, confusion written so clearly all over her face that Peyford has to offer some further explanation.

“There has been enough Rites now for all triumvirates to have faced off against each other, and were the Nightwings around, the most favored one would have been summoned to their liberation Rite.” He pauses. “I imagine that would have been the Tempers, as usual, but without the Nightwings, they won’t be accomplishing much.” He gives a nonchalant shrug. “For us it means that we will have no Rites for the upcoming moons, until the stars call upon us again.”

The Reader nods in understanding.

“Does that mean that we are just going to be sitting around here doing nothing for… several moons?” She asks.

Peyford shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t see it as doing nothing. Take it more as an opportunity to hone your skills, perhaps forage for things that we can sell for sol, and acquaint yourself further with the triumvirate. I’m certain that you can come up with uses for your time, Reader.”

The nomad pats her shoulder and goes back to tidying up the wagon. Figuring that she might as well leave him some space, the Reader heads outside.

Once there, she suddenly feels a bit lost. After becoming so used to always have to prepare for the next Rite, now, when left to her own devices, she is not sure what to do with herself. She walks a lap around the wagon while considering her possibilities. The most obvious course of action would be to properly acquaint herself with the Book of Rites, something which would very likely be of help to the triumvirate as well, not to mention that she is the only person who can do it. Foraging would not be a terrible idea either. Seeing as they are in a forest, her botanical skills may very well be of use again.

Having finished her lap, the Reader sits down on an improvised bench near the wagon's door and sighs. Peyford does have a point in saying that she could use the time to get to know the triumvirate better. Granted, in her mind she has a pretty good rapport with everyone already, save for Manley, of course. If they are going to be spending a long time just living their daily lives without the Rites looming over them, the two of them would likely be better served by getting along, rather than awkwardly avoiding each other all the time.

For now though, a good start might be to simply sit down and relax for a bit. From her seat, the Reader looks around to get a feel of what her fellow triumvirate members are using their time for. She can still hear Peyford rummaging around in the wagon, putting things in order, and judging from some muffled speech, Avrec has just woken up to give him a hand. Meanwhile, Xaxiana appears to be perched up in a tree, watching Tidemont with some amusement. The wyrm is struggling with a rather large branch, seemingly trying to straighten it and clean off any stray twigs on it. To her, it almost looks like he is trying to make some sort of weapon…

After another look around, the Reader finally realizes that someone is missing. Specifically, she has not seen Manley all morning. He definitely was not in the wagon when she woke up, and he is nowhere around in the small clearing where the wagon is set up. She spends a few minutes musing on the sap’s absence, before finally spotting him approaching the wagon, looking to be in a rather good mood.

“Speak of the devil…” The Reader mumbles and closes her eyes, deciding to at least postpone dealing with Manley for a little longer.

As the sap makes his way into speaking distance of the wagon, he addresses the triumvirate at large.

“Well, my dear colleagues. Now that we are waiting for the stars to return, I am certain that you are all already looking for ways to make yourselves useful to the triumvirate, hmm?” There is a pause in his speech as he looks at the rest of the triumvirate.

“As for myself, I plan to show our dear Reader the surroundings, as I am sure that she would feel more at home once she knows her way around.” He comments as he walks towards her. “What do you say, Reader? Care to join me for a little walk?”

She was only halfway paying attention to the sap, and as she takes a moment to open her eyes, she suddenly realizes that Manley is right in front of her, offering a hand to help her get up. She blinks confusedly and looks around. Tidemont and Xaxiana appear equally as confused as her, and the harp shoots a suspicious squint in Manley’s direction.

“Oh... were you talking to me?” She finally snaps to attention.

“Why, there is no other Reader around, is there?” Manley responds.

She considers the invitation for a brief moment. It all appears to have come a bit out of nowhere, but perhaps he has come to the same realization as her, regarding how awkward things may be if they are unable to get along. At least he seems to be taking a first step towards fixing the entire situation.

The Reader nods, before accepting Manley’s hand and standing up, gesturing for him to lead the way. The sap clasps his hands behind his back and walks off into the woods, and she follows close behind him.

“Fascinating stories about these woods, Reader.” It does not take long before Manley starts talking, seeming as enamored with his own voice as always. “Can you believe they say that it used to be even more overgrown and hostile than it already is? Oh what a dreadful thought!”

The sap shudders, and the Reader can sympathize. The woods are already hard enough to navigate as they are. She can hardly imagine them being worse than what they can see right now.

“The tales say that there used to be this Titan… Varizech, Arizech... something of that sort, that controlled the woods. Supposedly they made it a terrible place for the Scribes to spend their nights in.”

Manley pauses for a moment, looks back and forth, then sharply turns to the right in order to avoid a particularly dense patch of wood.

“Do stop me if you have heard this before, dear Reader.” He clears his throat and continues. “Did you know that it was our very own Lu Sclorian Hundred-Minds who tamed the woods and got rid of that dreadful Titan? And I heard that he did not even have to resort to violence, brilliant as he was.”

It is clear that even as someone not particularly invested in the tales of the Scribes, Manley carries a little bit of loyalty or admiration towards the Scribe he represents in the Rites.

“I must assume that you saw the grand tree at the Glade of Lu, mhm? In short, the story says that everything that grows in that glade is directly descended from the Hundred-Mind’s genealogy, and it is what keeps fighting back against those dreadful thorns that you saw sprouting up and making a horrible mess of the Rite.”

The Reader had definitely thought of some ideas regarding the source of those thorns, but she certainly had not expected to receive an answer from Manley of all places. She is surprised to realize that the walk is being rather enjoyable so far. And for once, she has no real inclination to interrupt the sap’s ramblings, as the subject is one which is more than just a little interesting to her.

“Oh but such old legends cannot be much more than fairy tales, Reader. Although, while we are on the subject of wooded areas, have you ever been to the Westerly Woods during your time in the Commonwealth?” He says while glancing back at her.

She shakes her head and Manley launches into a long tirade. “Oh! I absolutely must tell you about it, Reader! Certainly they can’t be compared to this awful area. Anyhow, while I was raised in the Commonwealth’s capital, I happened to travel there a good amount of times, thanks to my position as ambassador, and it turns out that-”

As the talk changes its direction towards politics, the Reader’s interest does admittedly fade a little. Certainly, the matter of the Westerly Woods’ rather unique state of sovereignty from the Commonwealth has always intrigued her, but it also feels quite distant here in the Downside. While Manley continues on explaining the complexities of political discourse between the Woods and the Commonwealth, her attention starts to drift away from the conversation in order to observe their surroundings.

By now, the vegetation is much denser than it had been around their wagon, and the trees have become tall enough to almost completely block out the sun. Curiously enough, when the Reader looks particularly hard at the surroundings, her gaze starts falling upon the occasional sign of civilization. Ancient signs, to be certain, old rocks which are just a bit too regular, stones which appear to be placed in some sort of pattern, all worn down to be almost unrecognizable as something made by intelligent beings. Relics of this sort must have been incredibly old even in the time of the Scribes, and it raises some interesting questions in her mind about the past history of the Downside.

Just about when the Reader starts wondering how far they have walked, Manley glances over his shoulder to see if she is still paying attention.

“Oh, but I must be boring you, Reader. Why, I have been talking for so long and you’ve barely gotten a word in, have you?”

She smiles, honestly a little surprised by Manley’s sudden self-awareness regarding his excessive talkative behavior.

“No, actually. Stories like these happen to be something I’m quite interested in. I suppose that that is what happens when you grow up surrounded by books.” She pauses for a moment. “Honestly, I’m just glad that we can hold a conversation like this again.”

Suddenly, Manley stops, almost causing her to bump right into him.

“Oh by the roots of Lu Sclorian, when are you going to drop that act?!”

The Reader shakes her head, confused. “Act? What do you mea-”

“You know all too well what I mean, Reader!” Manley interrupts her, sounding rather angry all of a sudden. “Always pretending to be nice, putting on some airs of caring about others... Like you have done with the rest of the triumvirate!”

He then slowly turns, raising a finger to point at her. “Don’t think for a moment that I do not see what you are attempting to do, Reader. You might have pulled the wool over the eyes of my colleagues, but not me, my dear.”

As he starts walking towards her, she backs off, trying to keep a safe distance from the irate sap.

“After all, do you think that I can not recognize my own tactics? It is as if you are trying to replicate how I originally made my way to the leadership position of the Chastity, Reader.” He pauses and tilts his head. “Granted, the fellow I replaced was such an incompetent pushover that the comparison is hardly valid.”

The next moment, the Reader feels herself back into something, coming to an abrupt halt. Looking back, she realizes that she has walked straight into a tree, and takes a moment to reflect on the humor of being cornered between a tree and a sap. When she turns to face Manley again, her field of view is primarily taken up by his sour expression, as he has leaned in uncomfortably close against her.

“Well… this is awkward…” She comments quietly.

“Is it?” Manley frowns. “And I suppose that you did not consider it ‘awkward’ to cheerfully step into my position the moment I was indisposed, hmm?”

He then straightens up, before clearing his throat.

“But worry not, Reader. This issue will not continue any longer, in fact, that is why I have brought you here.”

She suddenly freezes up, Xaxiana’s warning echoing through her head. Being brought away from the triumvirate, into an unknown part of the woods, by someone that detests her. It appears that she has fallen into the simplest of traps, and she silently curses herself for being so naïve.

“So this is how it’s going to be...?”

Her eyes rise to meet Manley’s. If he is really going to be rid of her, then she is going to face that end with some manner of dignity. It is curious… She does not feel as frightened as one might have expected. In fact, this is almost right out of some of the story-books that she read in her youth, with her as the heroine in danger. This fact may be what is inspiring her courage in this strange situation. That aside, if there is going to be any chance of getting away now, buying time is going to be the first step.

“So what did you plan, Manley? To stab me?” The Reader glances around the forest. “To strangle me with some of the local vines, maybe? Oh, except…” She places a finger on her chin, thinking of Xaxiana’s exact words. “You would need it to look like an accident, would you not? Perhaps you will leave me to a pack of howlers and let them take care of it.” Finally, she points right at him. “Or no, it has to be poison. You absolutely come across as the kind of person that wouldn’t want to get their hands dirty.”

At this point, Manley takes a few steps back, returning to a more comfortable speaking distance. His expression appears shocked, completely blindsided by this turn in the conversation.

“Wha- b-but I-.” He shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. “Reader! What dreadful things are you trying to insinuate?! How could you possibly have gotten the idea that I am a murderer?!”

She blinks, caught as off guard as Manley, and awkwardly looks away while muttering something about Xaxiana under her breath. It seems that there might have been a massive misunderstanding.

“Well I never-!” Manley huffs. “Only an utter fool would get rid of something as valuable as a reader. Not to mention the disastrous reception I would receive if I came back to the wagon without you!”

The Reader frowns at Manley. He really is not helping his case by arguing practicality and her _value_ as his only reasons for not killing her.

“All that said, Reader, I would never stoop to doing something so vile. By the Scribes, what sort of an awful person do you think I am?” Manley raises his hands defensively, seeming genuinely appalled by the thought.

She sighs and takes a careful look at him. It appears that she should have trusted her instincts regarding Manley, before assuming that Xaxiana’s inflammatory warning had any merit. He may be opportunistic and manipulative, but murderous still appears to not be a fitting descriptor for him.

“So… why are we in the middle of the woods then?” She asks.

“Why, I needed to talk to you in private, Reader.” He responds indignantly. “You know what an ordeal it can be, getting an extended quiet moment in the wagon. With everyone moving around and constantly interrupting conversations at their whims. Surely you understand, hmm?”

That explanation does sound reasonable, although there are some clear faults with his method. Bringing her into a dangerous area under the pretense of showing her around is not what she would consider a good way to start a private conversation.

“Well then…” She sighs again. “I’m listening.”

“Precisely what I wanted to hear, dear Reader.” Manley steps up and puts his arm around her shoulder in a very familiar manner, which is never a good sign.

“Now, you simply must pardon me for coming across so threatening earlier. Know that that was not my intention, not at all, Reader! I simply had some built up… frustrations because of your eagerness to take my place as soon as the opportunity presents itself.” He squeezes her shoulder for just a moment. “And for some reason beyond my understanding, it appears that my… colleagues have taken a liking to your leadership…”

She glances up at Manley just in time to see his face briefly contort in a grimace. It seems that it hurt his pride to admit that.

“Well, Reader, while this entire ordeal has put me in a rather awkward situation, I am certain that we can come to an agreement of how to handle it, like two reasonable adults. After all, regardless of your recent performances, I am still the official leader of the Chastity, and I would like for it to stay that way.”

She coughs, trying to make Manley get to the point.

“So, this is the proposal I have for you, dear Reader. I want you to stand aside and leave the leadership of the Chastity to me. Of course, you can still come with us and read the stars for the triumvirate, as your readings have proven to be almost as reliable as my own-” she can not suppress an eye roll “-but I would simply prefer it if you left important matters regarding the triumvirate to me, such as when to accept new members, or who takes part in the Rites.”

The Reader nods along as Manley lists his suggestions. So far, it all appears fair, even his request to choose who conducts the Rites. Given what she recently learned about participation being needed for liberation, it may be better to allow that matter to be worked out by those whose futures are on the line, rather than by her, from the somewhat disconnected position that she inhabits as a reader. However, it appears that Manley is not quite done.

“... And, well to put it bluntly, Reader. I want you to stop participating in the Rites in that… distracting and dreadfully intrusive manner. Honestly Reader, I can not imagine how you think I will be able to lead my triumvirate with you bursting in from the sidelines, constantly contradicting my orders. It is highly inconsiderate, if I am being frank!”

At this, she snaps back, pushing Manley’s arm off her shoulder.

“Excuse me, what?! You can not honestly expect me to just leave the Rites like that! What were you intending, for me to just follow you around and read stars like some sort of-of... astrologer for hire?!”

Manley smirks as she says this.

“Exactly.”

Confused by his expression, she raises an eyebrow, wondering what he is getting at.

“Don’t make that face at me, Reader. I would have thought that you would be pleased with the offer to be our astrologer, to follow in the steps of your father in a way…”

A frown appears on the Reader’s face. She is fairly certain that she never mentioned her father to Manley. Although... maybe Peyford had passed on the information at some point.

“Oh, but excuse me, I have been awfully rude this entire time, now have I not? Why, in a formal discussion like this I should address you by your proper name, miss... Lyra, isn’t it?” He glances down to see her reaction. “Why you must have been mortified by everyone always calling you ‘Reader’.”

She suddenly feels a chill run down her spine, and her eyes widen. That is a name which she has not heard for several moons by now, and the last time was during her sentencing, just before being thrown down the river. When the triumvirate had started addressing her as ‘Reader’, she had never felt a need to correct them, feeling that her name, along with her life in the Commonwealth, was a thing of the past. This is something that she is absolutely sure that she has not mentioned to anyone in the triumvirate, and Manley must know that.

Her expression must be quite amusing, though, as Manley appears to be rather pleased with the effect that his little piece of information had. However, she is fairly certain of how he got that knowledge.

“So do we have an agreement?” He asks, unable to suppress the smugness in his tone.

The Reader snaps back without even thinking.

“I can’t believe you used your connections to investigate me!”

Manley takes a step back, putting a hand on his chest in a clear display of faux offense.

“Lyra dear, you say that as if it was a bad thing! Surely you can not blame me for wishing to know more about my wonderful reader, can you?”

“Stop calling me Lyra!”

“Oh, as you wish Ly- Reader.” Manley waves his hand dismissively. “I simply thought it would make you more comfortable to-”

“No, it doesn’t!” The Reader interrupts again. “It’s unsettling! You shouldn’t know my name if I don’t want you to know it! And continuing on, no, I’m not stepping out of the Rites, no matter how much of this... stalking you do!”

This may be the most emotional that she has ever been since her exile to the Downside. As such, it seems to take Manley a while to figure out how to continue forward, seeing how his plan appears to have completely backfired.

“Ahem.” He straightens up, adjusting his collar and cuffs in an attempt to act casual. “Well, of course, I did not expect you to simply accept this without receiving anything in return, you are smarter than that, dear Reader.”

He is met with a deadpan stare, as she wonders what he can possibly say to salvage this situation.

“So, as you can see, I do have powerful acquaintances back in the Commonwealth. And I assume, seeing how invested you are in the Rites, that you are looking forward to your liberation and subsequent return home, correct? Certainly, I could use my contacts to make such a return much more pleasant, if only you agree to my terms, which are obviously quite-”

“Manley!” She interrupts him again. “What are you trying to say now? You know full well that I can not be liberated, yet you are trying to negotiate with me on such pretenses?” She crosses her arms, daring him to try and deny her point.

There is a moment of silence, the Reader continues staring, and Manley awkwardly rubs his fingers together.

“Ah…” He finally speaks up. “So you know.”

“Certainly not thanks to you.” She replies.

“Oh well, that makes no real difference, dear Reader.” Manley continues on, unfazed. “All of this is just a temporary arrangement, after all. Eventually, after I am liberated of course, you will be able to participate in the Rites as well, and earn your own liberation in due course.” He smiles broadly as usual. “And I am sure that you would like me to put in a good word for you once that time comes, would you not?”

Getting no response, Manley continues on.

“You see, I am certain that once I am liberated, I will be able to get a very influential position in the Commonwealth Council. Since that is the case, my word could get you anything you might want.” There is a hint of impatience in his tone, likely caused by the Reader’s silence. “All I ask in exchange is for you to step out of the Rites for now. So tell me, what is it that you are interested in, mhm? Money? Political power?”

As Manley falls quiet, looking at her expectantly, the Reader sighs and finally speaks up.

“None of that interests me, Manley. In fact, I’m not even particularly interested in my own liberation.”

“Oh Reader, you can not be serious!” Manley cuts in, his voice full of disbelief.

“If you know so much about me, then you should also know that I have nothing to go back to.” She answers solemnly.

Manley lifts his hands in a shrug. “Frankly, there does not appear to be much to know about you, Reader. You were the daughter of a renowned astrologer, and that is really most of it… If I am being honest, there is more information about your father than about yourself. No known acquaintances, no known profession...” He hums. “Either you are a master of concealing such details, or you lead a very solitary and lonely life.”

The Reader crosses her arms and lowers her gaze. Inadvertently, Manley has hit on a rather sensitive spot of hers, sending her into a state of reflection. It is true that she spent a lot of her life in solitude, mostly on behalf of her father. He was a rather protective man, and the two of them rarely left the house, aside from the occasional social gathering, or to meet his colleagues.

“Oh, was my guess accurate, Reader? Do you truly have no one up there?” Manley comments in the middle of her reverie.

She does not notice his questions, as her reflection continue on to how they had never invited anyone to their home either, keeping outside contact to a minimum. This lifestyle rubbed off on her, and she continued behaving in a very similar manner, even after her father’s death.

“Why you must have felt very lonely, did you not?” The sap carries on, unnoticed by the Reader. “Particularly after the death of your father. People in the Commonwealth can be so inconsiderate, truly.”

Her father’s death… She rubs her shoulder and sighs, remembering his last days. He had told her to try and forget all that she had learnt, to go find some well-off noble to marry, and to live the rest of her life comfortably. It was then when she realized that no one was really interested in having more than a passing conversation with her.

“You know, Reader...” Manley leans in closer, lowering his voice. “We are not that different, the two of us. We are both ambitious, seeking something more than what the Commonwealth could offer us. We’re natural-born leaders, though perhaps of different kinds...”

As he leans in, the Reader unconsciously tilts her head and looks away from him, still lost in thought. Back in the Commonwealth, she would meet people, they would exchange the standard pleasantries, and then they would rapidly move on to hold a conversation with someone else. Her guess had always been that the noble class was rather touchy about being associated with someone so closely tied to a scholar, and thus, by proximity, to potential literacy.

“What I am trying to say is, well...” Manley raises his hand and gently touches the Reader’s face. “If you are looking for some _company_ , I can help with that as well.”

As she notices his touch, the Reader snaps back to reality, just in time to hear his last statement. She is having a hard time catching up to what just went on while she was absorbed in her thoughts.

Suddenly, Manley is inside her personal space, making ridiculous offers of… she is not quite sure what. What is certain however, is that there is a simmering anger building up inside her at the very thought that he just might be trying to exploit her lonely nature in an attempt to get what he wants.

“Manley…” She pauses for a moment, looking up at the sap.

“Yes, dear Reader?” He smiles back at her.

“Is that a threat?” She squints at him, her fists clenching as she tries to restrain herself.

Manley takes a step back, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

“Why, it is impossible to hold a serious conversation with you!” He exclaims, clearly offended by the rude rejection.

“Maybe that is because nothing you say can be taken seriously!” The Reader snaps back. With everything she has heard up until now, she has no reason to hold back her feelings any longer.

“Since the very first day, you immediately started treating me like an object, like a curious trinket that you could show off to the other triumvirates! Then, once I actually started carrying out my duties as a reader, a task you were completely unhelpful in explaining to me, you complained about every decision I took, simply because it was not a decision you would have made! Moreover, you started blaming _me_ for the losses, despite the fact that _you_ were the one holding me, and your entire triumvirate back!”

She starts approaching Manley, and he backs up to keep the distance between them.

“Apparently, everything I do is either a personal attack, or some devious plan to take over the triumvirate, probably because you cannot imagine anyone behaving in a selfless manner! And now, that I finally feel like I am getting familiar with my tasks, you drag me off into the forest, so that no one can see you trying to intimidate me into quitting the Rites! Using sneakily acquired information and empty promises, no less! And you do this without even knowing how much it may mean to me!”

She pauses for a moment to catch her breath before continuing.

“Oh! And to top it all off, you think that I’m so desperate for _company_ that I would give you anything you want just because you offered to be my... _friend_!? I might have led a solitary life, yes, but I’m sure I know more about kinship than you!”

The Reader is now close enough to jab her finger at Manley’s chest.

“But since you are so set on knowing what I want, I’ll tell you! I want three things!” She raises her hand and counts them off on her fingers. “For you to treat me like a person with my own feelings, and not some sort of accessory! For you to start taking the Rites seriously! And for you to listen to me, and the triumvirate, instead of thinking you are the only one that matters!”

She lets out a frustrated groan.

“But wait! I guess you can’t buy any of that with all your money, can you?!”

The two of them stare at each other in silence for a good long while. The Reader, with a furious glare. Manley, with the shocked expression of someone getting harshly told off for the first time. Eventually, the sap breaks eye contact, turns, and starts walking away.

“Wait! Where are you going?!” The Reader calls after him.

“Back to the wagon.” Is the response she gets.

She sighs and quickly catches up to Manley, keeping a few steps behind him. Even she had been a bit surprised at the magnitude of that rant. Perhaps she had overdone it a little, but it looks like there had been a lot more bottled up inside of her than expected. Still, every word out of her mouth had been her genuine thoughts.

As they keep walking in silence, the Reader turns her attention on the surroundings again. The trees really all look the same around here, even to the point that she could swear that they are passing the same ones several times. It certainly does not help that the trip feels a lot longer in complete silence. Eventually, Manley stops, looking around himself with a confused expression on his face.

“Well… this is most curious…” He comments.

The Reader feels a chill down her spine for the second time this day, as the realization settles in.

“Manley…”

She lets out a tired chuckle.

“We are not lost… are we?”


	20. Wisps and Whispers

“I can not believe that this is happening!”

The Reader can not find much recourse in this current situation other than to throw her hands in the air and pace. Unfortunately, the glade that the two of them are standing in is not large enough to get a proper pace going, so she is mostly frustratedly rotating on the spot. Lost. In the Wakingwood. With Manley as her only person to rely on. She honestly can not imagine a worse scenario to be in.

“Oh please do calm down, Reader.”

Meanwhile, Manley has remained rooted in the same spot for the last few minutes, calmly looking up at the tiny hints of the sky which are peeking through the dense leaves overhead.

“I would not say this is such a disaster. Although we may wish to think about what we are going to do to make it through the night.”

“What?!” The Reader snaps around at this, walking rapidly towards the nonchalant sap. “Oh no. Nononono, you are going to find a way to get us back to the wagon. Right now!”

Manley folds his arms, still staring at the sky.

“Please do consider that wandering through these woods at night would be even more dangerous than staying put. And I already made it clear that I would rather avoid any harm coming to you, so-”

“I don’t care!” There may be a bit of panic mixed in with the Reader’s frustration by now, and she is letting it show. “I’m not spending a night out here, with you of all people!”

He frowns but the Reader continues on.

“This was also part of your plan, wasn’t it?! You bring me to the woods, then you pretend to be lost so that you can force me to stay in the wilderness all night, at which point I get... killed by howlers or whatever else!”

Manley grumbles but still does not interrupt her rambling.

“Or maybe you just came up with such a careless plan that puts you in danger as well! How typical of you, to walk into the Wakingwood without knowing where you are headed!” She groans. “Why did I think that going anywhere with you would be a good idea? Why?!”

“Reader!” Manley raises his voice, finally looking down at her. “I did not devise a plan for us to get lost! I will have you know that these woods are constantly changing, and I have not been here for several moons. I would have known perfectly where we were, had I not gotten sidetracked. All because you didn’t think of interrupting me after five minutes of talking, like everyone else does! Hmpf.”

“Well, I’m incredibly sorry that I found something you said interesting for once!” She replies before burying her face in her hands and letting out a loud whine. “This must be a sign that the Scribes hate me. It seems they don’t think exile is a harsh enough punishment, so they made sure I got stuck with you…”

At last, there is a change in Manley’s expression as his eyes flash with that familiar indignant anger of his. He quickly closes the remaining distance between them, finger raised and mouth open, ready to unleash any number of profanities or insults in her direction… Then, he suddenly stops, letting out a long breath and adjusting his clothes. Once done, he speaks in a very different tone than she is used to hear. No haughtiness, no pretension.

“Reader. For all your lecturing about treating others as if they have feelings… you seem to have an issue practicing what you preach. Your words can hurt too, I hope you are aware.”

He then turns and walks off towards a nearby grove of smaller trees, leaving the Reader in a state of shock. The idea that he could speak in such a genuine manner without being sick had not even occurred to her. What surprises her even more though, is the fact that he is… correct. His usual put-on accent and over the top mannerisms had always given her the impression that he could not possibly hold any genuine emotions underneath all that acting. In her frustration, she had completely forgotten that glimpse of the real Manley that she had seen on the Sea of Solis, making a complete hypocrite of herself in the process.

Feeling rather regretful, she walks up to him while attempting to stutter forth some sort of apology. Except, she is at a loss for what to say, not helped at all by the stress of the current situation. As she approaches, however, she realizes that he is gathering branches, both from the ground and from the smaller trees surrounding them.

“W-what are you doing?”

She manages to stammer out a question, and is met by a heavy sigh from Manley.

“I suppose I’m trying to prove that I don’t want you dead, Reader.” He glances back at her. “You know… some saps may consider this sort of wood-gathering to be rather morbid. But I guess that growing up in the Commonwealth has left me rather insensitive to such kinds of issues.” He turns away and starts putting together what appears to be an improvised shelter while muttering. “Or perhaps I have the Downside to thank for that…”

The Reader tilts her head, curious about that statement. The circumstances of Manley’s early life are something which he has not seemed willing to share with the triumvirate, at least not during her time with them. However, now that she thinks about it, his past might hold some insight into why he acts as he does nowadays.

She observes him build the shelter as she crosses her arms and retreats into her thoughts for a moment. From what she can remember, partially thanks to Manley’s own bragging, and partially from some personal experiences, the Tinderstauf are a quite wealthy family of industrialist saps, with a reputation which carried enough weight as to influence Commonwealth politics.

As far as she knows, Manley is the only heir to that family, so it follows that he might have been under a considerable amount of pressure to live up to their expectations. This, combined with the family’s influence, may have been why he ended up with the position he had as an ambassador. It suddenly hits home with the Reader what an enormous blow his exile must have been to both him and his family… maybe big enough to explain his approach to the Rites, as well as his behavior towards her.

The burden of following in family footsteps is not something foreign to the Reader either. Even though she did not have the pressure of succeeding her father, there had always been this nagging doubt that she may have been better off ignoring him and using her skills to guide her through life, which at least may have kept her from feeling so lost once he was gone. But now, looking at Manley, she can not help but wonder what was really better... Her own relaxed but directionless life, or his stressful but tightly directed upbringing?

Still, as it stands now, the Commonwealth holds nothing for her but lost potential and a society which does not welcome her skillset. Conversely, in the Downside she has already found kinship with several people, and her abilities are integral to their futures. Of course, for Manley it must be the opposite. He has everything to return to: a family, a position, a reputation… and in the Downside, his skills are worth nothing, seeing as no amount of political maneuvering is going to get him an advantage in the Rites.

The Reader watches him attentively as he gives the final touches, and in the end, the shelter looks rather sturdy, with a tree as the central support and carefully placed steadying branches surrounding it. The roof is made out of a mesh of smaller twigs, with leaves acting as the final covering. It appears to be surprisingly well made, she must admit.

“This is… actually pretty good.” She touches it, and it defies her expectations by not collapsing immediately.

“Well, Reader.” Manley’s voice does have a hint of pride in it. “I did have to fend for myself during my first few moons in the Downside, and just because I am a sap it does not mean that I enjoy not having a roof over my head.” As the Reader looks between him and the shelter, he continues on. “Go ahead. It won’t break.”

Feeling a bit sheepish at being read so easily, she ducks inside and looks around. It appears to have ample room for both of them, and even seems like it might provide enough concealment to keep them hidden from any angry creatures that may be lurking in the woods. Feeling slightly relieved, the Reader sits down with her back up against the central tree and holds her knees. After a while of sitting like that, contemplating her chances of falling asleep in this position, she realizes that Manley has not joined her. Poking her head outside, she finds him standing right next to it, rigid as always.

“Are you not coming in?”

He glances back at her, expressionless.

“I believe you were lamenting your fate of spending a night with me, Reader. I felt it more considerate to stay out here.”

A small frown appears on the Reader’s face. There is still a hint of paranoia floating around in her mind. It is possible that all this selflessness is just a ruse and, for all she knows, he may intend to abandon her in the middle of the night.

“I… think I might feel safer if you were to also be in here.” She says as she timidly looks away from him.

“Really now?” Even Manley appears to have a hard time hiding the surprise on his face.

“Yes. Now, could you come inside before you attract the attention of some undesirable beast?” She pauses and sighs. “Please.”

It seems to take him a while to consider the request, and she is having a hard time figuring out whether he is changing his plans, gloating to himself, or whatever else. Finally though, he ducks down as well, combined with his roots sinking a bit further into the earth to let him fit through the opening. Once inside, he has a seat next to her and the two of them begin awkwardly avoiding eye-contact.

As the quiet of the woods echoes around them, tiny lights start playing at the edge of the Reader’s vision, and she lifts her head to investigate. Looking outside, she spots small, shining specks fluttering around in the air, almost as if the stars decided to come down and join them. Noticing her interest, Manley leans over to see what she is staring at.

“Wakingwood wisps, I see… It must be night-time then.” He glances back at her. “You have not seen them before?”

The Reader shakes her head. “Manley, this is my first time out in the Wakingwood, or any forest for that matter. So, I think that you should be able to understand why I’ve been in such a panic today…”

“Ah…” He awkwardly coughs and falls silent for a moment. “That reminds me, we used to keep a bottle of them in the wagon for light. But we eventually had to leave them when their demands for payment got too high…You see, Reader, just because I have the money doesn’t mean that I’m going to waste it on paying off fireflies.”

She stares at him, wondering if that was a joke or a genuine story, but gives him a courteous chuckle either way.

When she looks outside again, more fluttering wisps have gathered, lighting up the night and helping her feel more secure. Strangely enough, all this seems a bit familiar… In the woods, huddled together in a shelter, and surrounded by fireflies, it all seems to replicate a romantic setting out of something that she has read in the past. She glances at Manley, regretting that her company does not quite fit with the mood of the scene. Still, having that realization in her head only serves to make the situation even more awkward, and she starts considering if it was a good idea to ask for him to join her.

It does not take long for Manley to notice her staring at him.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Reader?”

The question catches her off guard, and she can feel her cheeks turning red from embarrassment, both because of being caught so rudely staring at him as well as the nature of her thoughts. She tries to calm herself while coming up with a plausible subject to bring up. In fact, she did want to apologize to him before, maybe now would not be a bad moment to do that. At least she wants to say something in order to lighten the atmosphere just a bit, so she starts by clearing her throat before replying.

“I was thinking… perhaps I owe you a bit of an apology for my earlier behavior.”

At this, Manley looks over and she can see that he appears both surprised and pleased. Well, she may be apologizing, but there is not about to be any groveling for him to enjoy.

“Granted, I did mean everything I said.” She continues. “But the way I behaved was unwarranted, I’m sorry. Shouting and making accusations like that was completely unbecoming of me.”

Manley’s smile does fade just a bit, but he nods in response. It would be difficult for him to reject a formal apology such as that.

“Certainly, Reader… I suspect that I was not blameless in eliciting such a reaction out of you.”

She is taken aback by his reaction to her apology, as she definitely had not been expecting him to admit any fault of his own, leading to a small smile appearing on her face as a result.

“Maybe so. If I am to put what I said earlier a bit less rudely, the way you went about trying to negotiate with me must have been among the worst ways I can imagine. Is this how your tradings usually go? And has it ever worked before?”

Manley sighs in response and falls silent, seemingly reminiscing. It takes him a long while to speak again.

“I suppose you will be surprised to know that my methods used to be rather successful in the Commonwealth. I simply found the one I wished to pay off, brought them aside on false premises, and then tried to get them to agree to the lowest amount possible.” He glances at her. “And I’ll have you know that this way of behaving got me many things, Reader…” He pauses, and his expression suddenly darkens. “Even my exile...”

There is another long silence, as the Reader is not sure how to pick up the conversation from there. Still, it is interesting to learn that it was back-alley negotiations which got him exiled… Perhaps that too was a result of the pressure from his family driving him to try and speed up the process of gaining a position worthy of his name. If that is the case, life sentence in the Downside feels like a rather harsh punishment for having inflated ambitions. That is not to say that there was no crime committed, but the Reader is starting to wonder if the Commonwealth does not need to have a look at more proportional punishments. She is saved from further considering the Commonwealth’s judicial system by Manley carrying on with a thoughtful hum.

“As for how it works for me in the Downside… I suppose that you can tell how well it’s been going, seeing as I’m here to tell you about it almost twenty years after my sentencing.”

The Reader lowers her head as she ponders what he just said. While she had been aware that Manley’s exile began a long time ago, hearing it from his own mouth makes it seem much more real. Such a long time… even for someone as long-lived as a sap, that is a considerable part of one’s lifetime to spend in the Downside.

“I thought that my negotiations would go differently with you, Reader.” Manley continues. “Since you appear to listen to me, and pay attention to what I say to some degree. Though it turns out that you simply despise me… like all the others.”

Her eyes suddenly widen as she has another realization, one which had been staring her in the face since she joined the Chastity, but which had never quite struck home until she heard Manley say it himself.

He truly is despised by everybody. Certainly, none of their companions give him any respect beyond the absolute minimum, and their opposing triumvirate leaders all talk down to him… save for Dalbert from the Fate, of course, and even then, Dalbert wished that she would be a good influence on him. Obviously, some animosity may be expected between adversaries, but even when she was standing in for him, their opponents seemed happy to remind her of what a disgrace Manley is. By the Scribes, even the Voice in her head never misses a moment to share his distaste for the sap.

It takes a moment for all this to sink in with the Reader, before she finally speaks up.

“Manley… I don’t actually dislike you.”

The sap lets out an amused noise, looking away from her.

“Ohh, I am so very likely to believe that after the tirade you spewed at me earlier today...” He waves his hand in a theatrical way.

She tries to reply to him, but pauses. Why did she just say something like that? Was it out of pity, or was she still feeling regretful about what she said earlier? Was she just trying to be nice? Or perhaps it was her honest feelings about him…

“Yes… I said a lot of things back then, about the way I felt and how you treated me. But do you know something? A lot of that came from a place of frustration. Thinking more about it, I must have been upset because I have been trying to get along with you since day one. However, you were the only one who could not see me as a person, and kept devaluing my efforts… At the same time, for some reason, I still care about what you think of me. Why else would I have put the time and effort into trying to let you know that I do not like your behavior towards me?”

She sighs.

“From my perspective, it seems clear that you are the one despising me, rather than the other way around. Yet, for some reason, you’ve never tried to expel me from the triumvirate.” She pauses and twists one of her ringlets. “I suppose that doing so after the Withdrawn Rite may have come across as rather cruel, but in the end you’re the leader of the Chastity, you would not need an excuse if you wanted to simply get rid of me at any time, so I never understood… why...”

“Well obviously,” Manley begins rather confidently, “doing so would have risked turning the triumvirate against me. If that had happened, you could all have easily taken the Chastity from me, achieving the exact opposite of what I would have wanted.”

“I see…” The Reader looks down, disappointed by the very practical answer.

“Though perhaps…” He mutters.

As the Reader looks up to see what he has to say, her vision suddenly blurs, and she hears Manley speaking quite clearly.

<The truth is that I would not want another triumvirate to have you.>

Had she not been sitting down, the Reader would have staggered at the sudden and unexpected sensation. For just a moment there, it had felt as if the two of them were in the Rites, and she had been using her mind to reach out to him. Except, unlike the Rites, it had been Manley who had just talked to her instead, and neither of them are even carrying a book.

“S-sorry, what did you just say?”

Manley blinks, looking at her.

“Oh, nothing at all Reader, pay me no mind.”

Maybe it had just been her imagination, a mix of wishful thinking and stress causing some sort of auditory hallucination. There is not much time to think about it, as Manley suddenly addresses her again.

“May I give you a similar question in return, Reader? Why would you want to remain in the Chastity? A reader that does not wish to be liberated… Can you imagine how much other triumvirates would give to have someone like you in their ranks?”

The Reader sighs and rolls her eyes. Second time answering this question now.

“Well… it would not appear very considerate of me to suddenly abandon those who saved my life.” She reaches for the practical approach to his question. “Though... seeing how valuable I am, perhaps you would be able to simply trade me away for something better?” She glances over at Manley, unable to keep a small smirk off her face.

He squints at her, clearly realizing that she is testing him.

“Reader, if I were to do that, I would demonstrate a thorough lack of understanding regarding what you told me about this evening.”

She smiles to herself, amused by the roundabout yet correct answer. It appears that while her method may not have been the most sensitive, her outrage appears to have gotten through to him. Perhaps it was precisely because of the complete lack of tact that he had finally paid such close attention to her.

The Reader dares to take a moment to be hopeful, maybe it will be easier to talk to Manley now that she has so thoroughly broken through the facade of decorum around the two of them. In fact, this seems like the right moment to clear up their dispute regarding the Chastity’s leadership, and she shifts into a different position which allows her to look directly at him.

“Manley, I know you may have a hard time believing this but… despite everything I said today, I still wish to be on good terms with you. Yes, I am aware that my approach to the Rites in your absence has not been the… most thoughtful one. And honestly, I would be lying if I said that I did not enjoy being in a leadership position like you are.”

Manley appears to be paying attention to her now, and the frown on his face speaks volumes.

“But I would not want to take such a position at someone else’s expense, I wouldn’t want to be a leader if it meant to hurt you, or make you uncomfortable.” She pauses for a moment. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m willing to accept your conditions regarding the triumvirate’s leadership. I… only ask that you please let me continue assisting in the Rites, as a reader.”

Having gotten through the main point of her speech, she looks away and rubs her forehead.

“This… may sound a bit silly but…” She chuckles. “When my father was alive, I always wondered what it must have felt like to do his job. He guided people, helped them make important decisions which affected their lives… I thought that I would never experience how it felt, especially not after being sentenced to exile.”

She fidgets a bit as she continues.

“But then I met all of you… and I joined the Rites… When we started prevailing in some of them and I saw the triumvirate’s expressions of happiness and gratitude towards me... I thought to myself that, perhaps this is how my father felt, and perhaps this is what I am meant to do. This might be how I follow in my family’s footsteps and make him proud.”

She glances back at Manley, who appears to be listening attentively as she continues.

“I never felt like I could find my place in the Commonwealth, but down here... I feel useful. And, for the first time after my father’s death, I’ve found people that I care for… people that I wish to keep guiding.”

She turns to look straight into Manley’s eyes.

“That includes you, of course. I want to be your ally, Manley, not your enemy. You may not let it show, but you must have a lot to return to in the Commonwealth. Far more than I do, in fact, and I want to be able to be a guiding light that leads you towards freedom, in the same way as the stars have lit the way for me since I was exiled.” A flash of determination sparks through her eyes. “No matter how hard it is… No matter how long it takes… I’ll make sure that you get liberated. That, is a promise.”

The Reader finally falls silent, simply staring at Manley with conviction written all over her face. She must have gotten swept up in her thoughts, and the surroundings, because she was not aware that she had such a mushy poetic side to herself. The sap stares back at her with a mixed look of confusion and pleasant surprise, clearly at a loss for how to react to such a genuine display of selflessness.

“Reader…”

She stops him.

“Well- I don’t really expect you to understand how I feel, but this is why the Rites are so important to me.”

He stares thoughtfully into the distance.

“No, I-I think I do. Making your family proud… finding what you are meant to do. I might understand...” There is a solemn nod. “Fine, Reader. You can continue guiding us in the Rites.”

He then shifts to a more comfortable position, settling in for the night.

“Perhaps it is time for you to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, as we still have to find the way back to the wagon.”

The Reader frowns, suddenly reminded of the mostly terrible situation the two of them are in. With a nod, she shuffles back to her original position, leaned up against the central tree-trunk and hugging her knees.

“Just one more thing, Manley.” She tilts her head to look back at him. “The next time you wish to know something about me, simply ask… I have nothing to hide.” She lowers her head again, sadness showing slightly on her face. “Not anymore…”

She notices a hint of guilt playing across his features as he glances at her for a moment.

“Ah, yes… I will keep that in mind.”

When silence falls once more, the Reader retreats into her thoughts as usual. This entire conversation somehow has made her view of Manley take some unexpected turns, surprisingly for the better. Still, there is that one paranoid part of her mind telling her to stay alert and not go to sleep, despite the physical and emotional exhaustion that is slowly setting in.

Well, regardless of that, closing her eyes for just a moment surely could not hurt...


	21. Homecoming

The first thing the Reader is aware of is a stray beam of sunlight somehow making its way through the foliage of Wakingwood and right into her eyes. Feeling too comfortable to wake up, she tries to turn away from it, burying her head into the blanket she is clinging on to. Then, the gears in her mind start slowly turning, reminding her of the entire situation which happened last night. She should still be in the Wakingwood, and she does not remember there being a blanket. Reluctantly, she opens her eyes to solve this mystery.

What she comes face-to face with is a familiar dark-blue color, and her brain slowly puts together all the pieces that she has gathered so far. She is still not back at the wagon, her only company last she was aware is Manley, and the blanket she thought she was nuzzling into is looking more and more likely to be... his suit. She hesitantly looks up, and is finally confronted with the sap’s sleeping face, tilting slightly towards her.

When her mind finally realizes that she had been sleeping curled up against him, she suddenly jolts backwards, backing headfirst into one of the shelter’s supporting branches, and knocking it over. As the roof starts shaking above them, she quickly scampers out the main entrance, exiting just in time before the entire construction collapses on top of her company.

The next instant, said company bursts upright among the fallen pile of branches and leaves, looking around in a mild panic.

“W-what’s happening?! Reader?!”

While he is still getting his bearings, she hurries to her feet and crosses her arms, adopting an annoyed facade to conceal her flustered state.

“It’s daytime!” She barks. “And we should get moving towards the wagon as soon as possible. As you can see, I already disassembled the shelter for you, so there’s no reason to wait.”

Manley brushes some twigs off his sleeves, still struggling to wake up as he squints at the Reader.

“Was it necessary to do that while I was still inside of it?”

She avoids looking at him, impatiently tapping her foot.

“Y-yes, it was. I am a very efficient person.”

Manley raises an eyebrow at this, finally having made his way out of the branch pile.

“You appear distressed, Reader. Did you not manage to get enough rest?”

Her face flushes and she points off into the woods while stomping her foot.

“Gh- I jus- why- Just get moving before we have to spend another night out here!”

The sap shakes his head, taking the lead as they walk off into the dense forest again.

“You were definitely in a better mood last night...” He laments.

“Well, last night was last night.” She retorts. “Now we are back in a terrible situation which I would like to have solved as soon as possible, so that I can sleep in my own bed tonight.”

Manley sighs. “Yes, of course…”

As the sap gets to work inspecting their surroundings and occasionally standing around staring at the sky, he gives the Reader some time to herself. That time, she gladly puts to use trying to figure out what in the world she had been thinking to end up in such an embarrassing position as she had been this morning. While she may have gotten a better opinion of Manley, that was nowhere near enough for her to lower her defenses and going so far as to… cuddle up to him? In fact, the last thing she can still remember is her paranoia specifically about him abandoning her in the night…

Thinking more, perhaps that was it. She must have been so paranoid about being left to fend for herself, that she had clung on to him in her sleep to keep him from moving. It was clearly her survival instinct prompting that behavior, nothing more. She nods to herself and smiles, satisfied with her logical explanation. At that point Manley calls out, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Reader! Please try to stay close.”

She hurries to catch up to him, struggling a little through the underbrush.

“Did you find out where the wagon is?”

“I might have.” Manley crouches down again and gestures for the Reader to join him, observing something on the forest floor.

“Judging by the way that moss is growing, alongside the shape of these trees, and the petals of these ferns...” He picks a plant and shows it to her. “See? The color on this side of the leaves indicates that north is in that direction, they always grow in this manner. Putting all these signs together with the fact that the Glade of Lu is located towards the west, our destination should be…” He stands up and points off into the distance, seeming quite sure of himself. “That way.”

The Reader is left rather stunned by the thorough explanation of orienteering techniques, as she had been completely unprepared for Manley to display such proficiency in outdoor navigation. In fact, she can not suppress a chuckle, rather amused by the irony of someone so lost in life being so good at finding their way around. Certainly, those skills would have been more useful yesterday, but better late than never.

Manley squints at her in return, clearly a bit put off by her chuckling.

“Let me hazard a guess, Reader. You likely think that I made all of that up on the spot, and that this is another one of my plans to get rid of y-”

“What? No!” The Reader interrupts him, waving her hands apologetically. “I’m actually impressed, and I think that we should do as you say.”

She pauses, idly twirling her hair.

“You know… I have been so focused on the fact that I cannot see the stars since last night that I completely forgot that there are other ways to navigate in nature.” She smiles at him. “In the end, I think I’m happy that you were here to stop me from doing something foolish, like walking around on my own in the dark. It’s… honestly kind of surprising that you are able to stay calm in situations like these, first with the howlers and now with being lost. I’m starting to think that there is a bit more to you than I originally thought, Manley...”

He stares at her for a moment, before clearing his throat.

“But of course, Reader. If you were to pay more close attention, I am certain that you would find that I am a sap of many talents. Indeed, my list of proficiencies is too long to go into now, but rest assured that navigation techniques and nerves of steel are far from the only hidden skills I possess.”

The Reader surreptitiously rolls her eyes, realizing that perhaps complimenting him was not the best idea, and she eventually gestures for him to start walking.

“Yes, yes, I am sure there is much for me to learn... Now lead the way, please.”

With the two of them finally on the way again, the Reader makes sure that she can keep up with Manley as she ponders all the information that she has acquired over the last few days. In her eyes, the sap has gone from being a self-obsessed villain who purposely sabotages others, to a self-obsessed fool who, despite his smarts and general resourcefulness, still manages to make some rather questionable decisions. At least, knowing that there is some wisdom to be tapped inside of Manley’s head makes her a lot more hopeful for his chances to improve in the Rites.

The pair of exiles continue walking in silence for a good while, with nothing but the creaking noises of the forest to accompany them, before Manley raises his voice again.

“Oh! Ohoh!” This time, he sounds rather pleased with whatever he has spotted up ahead.

“What is it?” She grunts, stepping over a particularly large root. “Is it the wagon? Please, tell me it is the wagon.”

“Oh no, dear Reader. Far better than that, far better.”

The next moment, the two of them walk out into a wide-open glade. The Reader is relieved to finally see the unobstructed sky again, and her relief is quickly matched by her surprise at the contents of the clearing, as her field of view is filled by a rather large wooden cottage. It appears very steadily built, and as the Reader’s eyes adjust to the added light of the area, she notices a small depiction of the Chastity’s emblem emblazoned on the door.

“This is the Chastity’s… well, I suppose you may call it our headquarters.” Manley proudly announces as he walks up towards the building’s entrance, gesturing for her to follow. “Please do come along, Reader. There is still plenty of time in the day, so allow me to show you around.”

The sap lets out a happy hum as he heads inside, and she slowly follows behind him. It might have been preferable to actually find the wagon and be reunited with the triumvirate, but if worse comes to worst at least this would be a more comfortable place to spend the night than the open forest.

“If I am to be completely honest, I had hoped to come across this place during our walk.” Manley admits as he starts opening doors and inspecting the general state of the building.

The cottage itself is quite spacious, with three individual bedrooms, and hallways that are lined with shelves full of various expensive looking objects. Some of them appear to have originated from the Downside, while others are clearly of Commonwealth make, and the Reader gets a strong sense that Manley decorated the house himself to make it feel just a little bit more like home.

“So… are you planning for us to stay here?” She asks.

“Why of course.” He responds. “It is far more comfortable than that creaky old wagon.”

The two of them then make their way into what appears to be a central dining room, complete with table, chairs, and a counter for cooking supplies.

“Yes, this appears to all be in order. Over here is the storeroom, give me a moment to see that everything is in its place, Reader.”

Manley continues cheerfully humming as he makes his way across the central room to a door in the back, which opens up into a smaller, windowless room full of wooden boxes. While he gets busy checking the supplies, the Reader has a seat on one of the chairs, happy to finally take a load off her feet. While the cottage seems to be a very nice place to live by Downside standards, a single swipe of her finger does reveal that everything appears completely covered in dust.

“Peyford is not going to like this.” She chuckles.

At this, Manley seems to stop what he was doing, and he comes back out from the storeroom, brushing off his sleeves.

“Ahem… no, I suppose that he will want to give it a proper cleaning.” He says in a less cheerful tone before crossing his arms and leaning up against the wall, falling silent for a while.

“Reader.” He finally addresses her, making eye contact as his face displays an unusually serious expression. “You and Peyford seem to be on... rather good terms, hmm?”

“Of course.” The Reader nods. “He’s kind, willing to help, knowledgeable, and pleasant to talk to. Not to mention that he is always willing to listen, as well as offering just the right kind of encouragement.” She smiles. “Honestly, were it not for him I likely could not ha-”

“Yes, yes, I understand. No need to paint me a portrait.” Manley cuts her off with a grumble, sending the two of them into an awkward silence.

A few moments later, Manley silently turns and heads for the exit, leaving the Reader wondering what that entire exchange was about as she follows him out. Once outside, he takes a minute to orienteer himself again before pointing out where they should be headed and walking off. After being on their way for a bit, the silence is finally broken again by him.

“You know, Reader? I have been told that I make a rather interesting conversation partner once you get to know me.”

She raises an eyebrow, slightly confused at his choice of topic. Still, seeing no need to be rude, she gives him a small smile before answering.

“Well, I wasn’t really expecting you to be interested in conversing with me considering your behavior during our last Rites…” She lets out a chuckle. “But, I can at least confirm that you are quite skilled at the whole talking part of holding a conversation.”

Fearing that her last comment might have been unnecessarily impolite, she awkwardly coughs before continuing in a softer tone.

“Ahem, what I meant to say was that I really appreciated that you listened to me last night, and…” She scratches her neck. “I suppose that it would be nice to get to know you better...”

He nods in response, and seems to smile a little.

As they continue walking in silence, the Reader thinks more closely about what just happened.

She definitely can see the value in becoming more acquainted with each other. Not only to talk about their pasts and personal experiences, but also to try and teach him about the Rites, and perhaps even discuss future strategies together. In fact, the entire triumvirate could really use her guidance to help them understand the contents of their books. Seeing as there is only so much that you can learn about the Rites by directly participating, perhaps this could help them gain another edge against their future opponents.

Eventually, the two of them spot the familiar yellow and pink fabric of the Chastity blackwagon, and the Reader lets out a relieved sigh.

“And there it is.” Manley proudly announces. “I assured you I could find it, did I not?”

“Yes, yes you did...” The Reader replies in a tired tone as she hurries her steps, wishing to be back in safety as soon as possible.

In a moment, their triumvirate also comes into view at the foot of the wagon. Peyford, Xaxiana, and Tidemont appear engaged in an intense conversation of some sort, while Avrec is stationed on the roof, presumably keeping watch for the two missing members. The Reader waves at the beggar, who gives a shout in response before waving energetically back, catching the attention of the three people on the ground.

As the lost pair get out of the forest, the triumvirate rushes to meet them, and Manley steps forth with a pleased smile.

“Ah, my beloved colleagues, we finally made it back. I assume that you took good care of the wagon in our absence, hmm?”

His smile fades slightly as the triumvirate walks straight past him, all crowding around the Reader instead and competing to get her attention.

“Are you hurt?” Xaxiana asks. “Thank the Underking you are back!” Tidemont exclaims. “We were just about to organize a search party to go find you.” Peyford informs, as they all continue talking over each other.

Manley is left standing a short distance away, doing an admirable job at concealing his wounded pride. The Reader manages to make eye contact with him, giving an apologetic smile, to which he responds with a nod. The two of them may have made progress but it is clear that the triumvirate still has far more affection for her than for him. The sap appears slightly saddened by the sudden reminder of this, and wanders off into the wagon without another word.

The moment Manley is out of earshot, Xaxiana pushes her way between the Reader and the rest of the triumvirate.

“Are you sure you’re unharmed, Reader? Because I swear by the Saint, if that gangly old tree so much as touched a hair of yours I will-”

“Xaxiana!” The Reader interrupts her before she says something she will regret.

“What?” The harp lifts a wing defensively. “I was just going to rough him up, honest. Depriving someone of their limbs is technically not killing, I’m sure the Scribes would understand.”

Before the conversation can take any worse turns, Peyford makes his way into it, patting the Reader on the shoulder.

“Xaxiana had been filling our heads with all manner of bad scenarios regarding what she thinks Manley would do to you given the chance.”

He gives the harp a sidelong glance, who at this point just throws her wings in the air, conceding that she was wrong.

“Still,” Peyford continues, “I feel guilty for not realizing what was happening, and for being unable to stop the two of you from wandering off.”

“Indeed!” Tidemont chimes in. “This lord is ashamed to have allowed such risks to be taken during his watch!”

The Reader lets out a tired sigh and waves her hand reassuringly.

“It’s fine, all of you, really. We were just taking a walk to have a private conversation and we lost track of time. When we realized that it was getting dark, we couldn’t make our way back and we had to spend the night outside. Right now I’m just…” Her stomach grumbles. “... tired and hungry. It’s been a day since I last ate something.”

“Oh, but of course.” Peyford nods. “I’ll go prepare something right away, just give me a moment.”

“This lord wishes to be of assistance!” Tidemont announces, and the two of them head back inside the wagon.

This leaves the Reader with Xaxiana and Avrec, the former of which protectively puts a wing around the Reader’s shoulder.

“So… everything is really okay?” She asks quietly.

“I appreciate the concern, Xaxiana.” The Reader lets out another exhausted sigh. “But everything is fine. I just need some rest, honestly.”

“Okay… I will… go help as well, then.” She nods and leaves, but the Reader can tell that she does not appear completely convinced, as she keeps glancing back at her with a worried expression on her way to the wagon.

After the harp has made her exit, only Avrec remains, who has been quiet the entire time. They stay there for a moment, as the beggar watches the Reader intently. Then, without warning, he reaches over and picks a twig out of her hair.

“Looks like tha two of ya had a pretty... _rough_ night, eh?” He comments as his expression turns into a suggestive smirk, alongside a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Wha- what are you insinuating?!” The Reader flushes as she tries to chase that mental image out of her head. “Avrec! You’re irredeemable!”

She then stomps off into the wagon with a loud groan, shaking her hair clean as she hears Avrec’s usual belly-laugh behind her.

The rest of the triumvirate’s evening is spent around the blackwagon’s table, talking about what happened the last couple of days. Well, in reality, it is mostly spent listening to Manley, as he explains how they found the Chastity’s headquarters and that they should be making plans for heading there first thing in the morning. The Reader decides to collapse into bed the moment she is done with dinner. There may be a lot of things to think about regarding her idea to tutor the triumvirate. However, with the effort of walking through the Wakingwood for two days, she can currently see nothing more desirable than falling asleep while listening to the familiar murmur of her companions.

Early next morning they all help out with getting the wagon moving again, and soon enough the triumvirate is on their way through the dense woods. Thankfully, already knowing their destination, there is no worry about getting lost, and the trip to the cottage is far shorter in the wagon than it had been on foot. Once they stop and disembark, the first sound the Reader hears is an impressed whistle coming from Avrec’s mouth.

“Pheew! Didn’ expect ta see somethin’ that fancy in tha middle o’ tha woods! You fellas are even more loaded than I thought!”

The beggar is soon followed by Peyford and Xaxiana, whom she figures have already been here before, then by Manley and Tidemont, and finally the Reader herself.

“This lord has certain reservations about wandering into an unknown domicile like this.” Tidemont comments, but Manley waves him down.

“Oh not to worry, not to worry, good sir. As I said, the Reader and I were here yesterday, and everything is perfectly safe and in order.”

He then takes the lead, opening up the front door and urging everyone inside. The moment they enter, the Reader hears Peyford let out a loud sneeze, followed by a very annoyed groan, which she finds amusing given her prediction from yesterday.

“Ahem.” Manley clears his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “Now that we are all reunited and resituated, I would like for us to get acquainted with this location, as it will be our place of residence for the coming moons.” He gestures around the house in general. “You will find that this place is better equipped for comfortable living than most locations in the Downside. Courtesy of yours truly, of course.”

He leaves a second to allow his bragging to sink in before continuing.

“Now, before we can get going with anything else, there is a matter of organization to deal with. Unfortunately, the house was originally built with a triumvirate in mind, so there are only three bedrooms, and...” He looks at the Reader “... because of some recent unexpected occurrences, we have a few more members than planned. So before anyone gets distracted with other business, I would prefer to assign such rooms so that everyone can transfer their belongings from the wagon into the cottage. Does that sound agreeable?”

No one raises any immediate objections, so Manley begins determining their rooms.

“First, the one on the left. Peyford, that one has traditionally been yours, I believe. And I figure that you will have no issues sharing it with Avrec, correct?”

“A’ight!” Avrec exclaims and throws his arm around Peyford’s shoulder. “Looks like we’re gonna be roommates, huh?”

Peyford gives an awkward cough, as he is shaken by Avrec. “Y-yes… That seems to be the case.”

“As for the right room.” Manley continues while Xaxiana glances at the Reader, trying to hide an entertained smile. “Xaxiana and Sir Tidemont should do well in that one, I believe.”

“What?!” Xaxiana’s smirk immediately dissipates, replaced by a look of disbelief. “How’s that even make sense? Why would you put us together?!”

Sir Tidemont does not appear to have anything to say about the assignment, but on closer inspection he looks quite a bit stiffer than usual.

The Reader has to wonder what went through Manley’s head to put a harp and a wyrm in the same room, but that thought gets quickly shoved aside as she realizes who this leaves for the last available room. She is not the only one who has figured it out, as the entire triumvirate, save for Tidemont, is glancing at her. Xaxiana visibly clenching her teeth, Avrec and Peyford with subtle amused smirks.

She tilts her head to look at Manley, who appears to have frozen up, seemingly at a loss for how to continue. The question arises in her head as to whether he had planned for this to be the result all along, or if he had just been making up these pairings on the fly. No matter what his plans were, she feels like she should help him out before the situation gets out of hand, and the triumvirate gets the wrong idea about them.

“If you’d allow me to voice my own humble opinion...” She begins. “I could make myself comfortable in the storeroom. I don’t require much space, and it feels only natural that Manley, as the leader of the triumvirate, gets to have his own room. Besides, I am the reason why we have this shortage of space to begin with, am I not?”

Hopefully, that bit of deflection will allow him to look a bit better in the eyes of the triumvirate.

“Why, of course. Yes, that was what I intended to say, thank you Reader.” He nods, very handily playing off his moment of indecision as if it was intentional.

The Reader barely fails to suppress a discouraged sigh. In reality, she might have preferred if Manley had not seemed so quick to accept the idea of placing her in the storeroom, but expecting him to develop a sense of tact overnight might have been a bit too optimistic.

“Well… I suppose I should get to work making my ‘room’ into something I can sleep in.”

As she heads into the small side-room and starts trying to clear a space for herself, Manley calls out after her.

“Oh, Reader, I hope you did not expect for me to simply toss you in there and forget about you. Please, allow me to help make it a bit more livable.”

Then, to her surprise, Manley comes into the storeroom and picks up a box, moving it aside.

“It is the least I can do as a host, to make you feel welcome, after all.” He says as he gives her a smile.

The Reader glances out of the door to her new room and sees that all of her companions are equally as stunned as her to see Manley doing any form of heavy lifting. All she can think of to answer their questioning looks is to give them a confused shrug.


	22. The Blackwagon

Several moons have passed since the triumvirate had arrived at the Chastity headquarters. This day, like most others, the Reader is sitting in her little storeroom, deeply engrossed in the Book of Rites. While she had intended to make an effort to finish the book during this quiet time, for some reason, whenever she feels like she is making progress, more pages can be found in chapters that she was certain she had already finished. While puzzling, at least this circumstance meant that she always had something new to talk about when mentoring the triumvirate.

As for the mentoring itself, it had been a rather interesting experience so far. To begin with, she had simply been reading passages from the book to allow her companions to share in its knowledge, as well as discuss its usefulness in a Rite. Sometimes, she had instead told them stories about the Scribes, in hopes of inspiring them to perform as well as the paragons they represent. Eventually, they had moved on from stories and inspiration to more practical matters, such as discussing how each individual member can best help the triumvirate in some commonly occurring situations. After all, the Reader acknowledged that she may not always be able to give everyone immediate orders, and from time to time, they will have to rely on their own judgement in a tense situation. To help this along, they have now begun practicing a set of hand signals to facilitate rapid communication without giving away their strategies through shouting. In general, the Reader had been feeling rather pleased with the results of her mentoring idea. Except for one thing.

For some reason, Manley has seemed completely uninterested in the sessions, politely but firmly declining every invitation that she has given him. Instead, he seemed more interested in holding long conversations just the two of them, avoiding the topic of the Rites whenever possible.

The Reader lets out a sigh and closes her book, shaking the ruminations from her head. Thinking about the Rites is reminding her that they will have to leave the headquarters again sometime in the future, a thought which does not thrill her, regardless of her desire to get back into them.

She has gotten rather used to her little windowless storeroom by now, particularly so after Manley arranged a lighting solution for her. The bottle of Wakingwood wisps flickers dimly as she glances at it. Granted, he had not presented it like a solution to a problem, but rather as a gift to her. Apparently, when she had looked at the wisps during the night that they spent in the woods, he had gotten the impression that she liked them for some reason, and so he had brought her that bottle as a ‘present’ of some sort. While she had appreciated the thought, Manley had continued bringing her other little gifts after she had accepted the first one, all of which she ended up putting inside a small box decorated with the sigil of the Scribes. While all this attention was nice in a way, the Reader must wonder what he will eventually ask for in return, knowing how he works.

As she sits there, idly contemplating the box, there is a knock on her door.

“Please, come in.” She calls out, and the door opens to reveal Peyford.

“I hope I am not interrupting anything.” He says.

“Oh no, not at all.”

Peyford nods and steps into the room with a polite, “May I?”, as he gestures at the empty spot on the Reader’s bed, having a seat after she nods in approval.

“I see the room is really coming together. It seems much more like a living space than when you moved into it.” He comments.

The Reader chuckles. “Well, I do my best with what I got.”

“Such as that box? It is a rather nice looking trinket, it suits you.”

She lets out a sigh.

“Apparently Manley thought so as well. Anything shiny in here is probably courtesy of him. I don’t really need any of these things but you know how he is, I thought it would be simpler to just accept these without a fuss rather than trying to reason with him.

“Maybe you should consider whether there is an ulterior motive to all these gifts.” Peyford smiles.

The Reader furrows her brow at that suggestion. He usually does not bring up possibilities like that unless he thinks they are plausible.

“I have considered it, and I swear to the Scribes... If this is his attempt to coax me into something outrageous such as quitting the Rites, I will- ugh!”

“It’s nice to see that you are scrupulous, but that’s not quite what I had in mind.” Peyford lets out a chuckle.

“Really? I can’t imagine him wanting anything else from me.” She chuckles as well. “But then again... he is rather full of surprises. Every time I think that I have him figured out, he comes up with something else that’s completely unexpect-”

Then, as if on cue, the door to her room slams open, revealing a flustered Manley in the doorway.

“What is happening in here?!”

While Peyford is clearly caught off guard, going so far as to spring to his feet, the Reader manages to pass it off without much more than a twitch.

“Manley…” She starts in an exasperated tone. “Could you please knock before entering?”

“Why, is there something you were keeping from me, hmm?” He crosses his arms and squints.

“No. Peyford was simply…” She pauses before turning to him. “Was there something specific that you wanted to discuss with me?”

“Ah, yes!” The nomad finally recovers, straightening his collar with a cough. “Avrec was tinkering with the wagon and asked me to call everyone outside. In fact, I was headed to tell you next, Manley.” He turns towards the sap.

“Alright.” The Reader cuts in before he can respond and walks outside the room, gesturing for Peyford to accompany her. “We can continue our conversation outside.”

He nods at this, and she quickly takes the lead as the trio heads out into the hallway.

“...And that’s what I meant by ‘full of surprises’.” She mutters under her breath to Peyford.

“Yes, I think I see what is going on there.” The nomad answers with a smirk.

Manley follows behind the two of them, making a low continuous grumble which prompts the Reader, after excusing herself from Peyford, to slow down and walk next to him.

“Is everything alright?” She asks.

“Of course, Reader, whyever would you ask?” Manley replies in a haughty tone.

“Well… why did you burst into my room like that?”

He sputters, clearly not expecting to be called on his behavior.

“Wh-why?! I- Ahem. Do I honestly need an excuse to enter a room, hmm? Remember that, as the leader of the Chastity, this is after all MY cottage, and I believe that that gives me the right to go wherever I please, hmph!”

“As that may be... I still don’t think it is a particularly polite way to act. Besides, people usually knock so that they don’t enter when someone is…” The Reader awkwardly glances to the side. “...Well, not proper.”

“Reader! Are you saying that Peyford and you were doing something improper?!” Manley seems practically mortified by the implication.

“What, no!” The Reader flushes, before groaning and lowering her voice further. “What I’m trying to say is that I could be changing my clothes, and I would appreciate if people did not burst in at such a moment. Honestly, Manley, I would have thought you’d be familiar enough with decorum to not need to be reminded about these matters.”

He seems to think about it for a moment, then suddenly flinches as the implications hit him.

“Well, of course! Walking in at such a moment would be quite undesirable! Quite… undesirable indeed...” He pauses as the Reader tilts her head at his odd phrasing.

“Oh, but I mean, it would be an undesirable conduct for a leader to- why in such a manner just, it would be scandalous, absolutely scandalous!” The Reader’s head tilts the other way, as his rambling turns somewhat confused.

“But please do excuse me, Reader, I did not mean to sound as if you yourself were undesirable, certainly not, why, if pressed on the matter I would have to say that-”

Manley’s monologue is mercifully cut short by Avrec suddenly shouting at them from up ahead.

“Ay! Yer all ‘ere now are ya?!”

Manley lets out a relieved sigh.

“Oh thank the Scribes for saving me from this conversation.” He mumbles, barely loud enough for the Reader to hear.

There is not much time to process that stream of information before Avrec catches everyone’s attention again with a wave.

“Ya won’t believe what I found! Lookit this!”

He reaches inside the wagon and gives something a tug, at which point a pair of canvas wings unfold from the vehicle’s undercarriage.

“I think I can make this thinger fly! Been tinkerin’ with it fer a couple ’a weeks now an’ it’s pretty much all good ta go!”

The entire triumvirate exchange surprised looks, both at the revelation that there are more features to their wagon, as well as the fact that Avrec was the one to uncover them. Well, the entire triumvirate except for Manley, who simply lets out a heavy sigh.

“You already knew about this?” The Reader asks.

“Well, yes…” He answers reluctantly. “That thing has been broken for almost a decade now.”

“And you didn’t have it fixed?” The Reader raises an eyebrow.

“No…”

“Because you could not afford it?”

“Of course I could have afforded it, Reader!” He lifts his chin in an offended manner. “Hmph, who do you think I am?”

“Then… why wouldn’t you? It looks like a very convenient way to travel, and it would probably allow us to reach the Rites without having to rush as we usually do.”

“Well, Reader, there is a very good reason why I did not pursue those repairs I will have you know.” He crosses his arms defensively. “Flying, to a sap, is just another flavor of sailing. There is all the awful lack of soil and terrible swaying, just with less salt in the air. Were we to start using that method of travel again…” He pauses thoughtfully. “Why, if we did that I may fall ill again, and require someone to assist me.” As he finishes his sentence, he subtly glances at the Reader.

Meanwhile, she places a finger on her lips, thinking deeply about what that would mean for her.

“Yes… I suppose that that would be quite... inconvenient.”

“Would it?” Manley responds, surprised at her apparent concern.

“Of course it would be. If you fall ill, then who is going to take your place in the Rites? I suppose you would not want me to do it again, correct?”

He only responds with a frown and a grumble, as Avrec speaks up again.

“A’ight! Who’s comin’ along fer tha maiden flight?!”

Without really thinking about it, the Reader takes a step forward. She is immediately yanked back by Manley suddenly grabbing her arm.

“Reader!” He hisses. “What in the world do you think you are doing? Are you really going to step into something that the beggar put together?”

She turns and squints at him. “Well, how can I expect them to place their trust in me, if I can not trust them in matters like this? I need to… practice what I preach, was it?”

“Of course, I remember what I said...” Manley looks a bit less certain although his grip remains tight. “But, what if something happens to you?”

The Reader’s squint lessens. “Are you concerned about me, Manley?”

“W-well.” He stammers and his hold loosens a bit. “If something happened then I wouldn’t have a reader any more, which would be a serious setback.”

Her eyes narrow again, and she pulls her arm loose from him.

“I’m sure that you’ll be able to buy another one somehow.”

She then strides past the rest of the triumvirate and gives Avrec a nod as she steps into the wagon, turning to see who will join her. The next moment, Sir Tidemont bursts upright, extending to his full height.

“Such admirable courage! This lord would be dishonored if he did not accompany our wonderful Reader on this trip!”

And true to his word, Tidemont quickly slithers up to the wagon, even if it takes him a moment to gather the courage to actually hop into it. Once he is inside, there is a chuckle from Xaxiana, who shrugs and casually walks up to the vehicle as well.

“This’ll be good for a laugh at least. I’ll get to watch the worm squirm, and worst case scenario, maybe I can catch someone on the way down.” Xaxiana winks at the Reader with a smirk, and she rolls her eyes at the harp.

“Peyford.” The Reader then calls out. “Won’t you join us as well?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” The nomad shakes his head, apologetically raising a hand. “I would feel more comfortable simply watching from the ground.”

“Ah...” She sighs. “And here I thought that you would be the first one to support one of Avrec’s efforts.”

Peyford does not say anything in response, but the next thing the Reader is aware of, he has joined them inside. With how much time they spent together maintaining the wagon, she had been pretty sure that appealing to their kinship would work, although it turned out to be a bit faster than even she had expected.

This only leaves Manley standing a few steps from the wagon, with his hands clasped behind his back. The Reader gives him a final glare and sharply turns her head away from him, prompting a groan from the sap as he simply waves for them to get going already.

She then walks back to the rest of her companions, expectantly watching Avrec as he works on the various levers and mechanisms which he has managed to expose at the front of the vehicle. Several minutes pass without any progress, and the Reader slowly approaches him to ask how it is going.

“Avrec… are you sure that you know ho-”

“Ah! There’s the one!” The beggar interrupts her, reaching out to pull one of the various hanging ropes.

The wagon shudders for a few moments, before suddenly launching straight up into the air, sending the entire triumvirate tumbling to the floor. Everyone, save for Xaxiana, who appears very amused by the floundering of her aerially-challenged companions.

“Tsk, wingless.” She laughs.

After some rapid pulls and cranks from Avrec, the floor, and presumably the rest of the vessel, stabilizes, hovering in place and rocking gently back and forth in the wind.

“Aha! There ya go!” The beggar exclaims excitedly. “Go ahead an’ take a look out tha back! Tell me what tha view’s like eh?”

Once the Reader and Peyford have staggered to their feet again, and Tidemont has figured out which direction is up, the four members make their way towards the back door. As they step onto the small balcony protruding from the wagon, they let out gasps of awe, except for Xaxiana, as they observe the landscape extending underneath them.

“I can’t believe we are truly flying...” The Reader comments.

“Pshh.” Xaxiana lets out a dismissive noise. “I suppose standing around in a floating wagon is what counts as flying nowadays.”

The Reader looks at her, thinking back to the conversation they had a few moons ago.

“Well, it’s better than sitting on the wagon’s roof at least?”

Xaxiana gives her a sad smile, before the two of them turn to observe the view stretching out before them. The Wakingwood looks quite different from above. Gone is the gloomy, dark, near-perpetual dusk beneath the thick canopy, and replacing it there is a verdant green sprawl going off in all directions. Far in the east, she can see the smoky black silhouette of the Black Basin’s rocky crags and suffocating flows of molten rock. She rather dreads the day when the stars will call them back to that hellscape again.

“This is incredible…” The Reader mumbles under her breath.

With the wagon itself facing west, there is no real way to tell what is in that direction, but to the south she can spot the high-rising clouds of the deathless tempest, completely obscuring the dark mass of the Sea of Solis beyond it.

“Aint that a view eh?” Suddenly, Avrec walks out onto the balcony, joining the rest of them.

“Avrec?!” The Reader exclaims. “Who is keeping us in the air if you are out here?”

“Don’t worry lass. I figured out ‘ow ta make it stay in one place. ‘Sall good.”

She considers asking him to please keep an eye on it anyways, but then, she realizes that that is another point where it might be better if she simply trusts him. Shrugging, she steps aside and makes some room for him before turning her attention to the north. There, far in the distance, looms a shadow that stretches even further into the sky than the clouds of the tempest. As she cranes her neck to try and spot the summit, Peyford notices what she is looking at and chimes in.

“Mount Alodiel. Supposedly the highest point in the Downside, and the location where the liberation Rites take place.” He adjusts his glasses and joins her in staring at the huge mountain. “I have never had a chance to look at it before, but even just seeing its shadow like this is... rather awe-inspiring.”

By then, the entire triumvirate is staring at the ominous shape in the distance. Even Xaxiana seems impressed by its scope, and Tidemont is close to being brought to tears by its natural majesty.

“Ay…” Avrec is the first one to speak up after a long period of silence. “I jus’ had a brilliant idea, eh.”

Everyone turns to look at him, with varying degrees of worry written on their faces.

“What if…” He continues. “We jus’ took tha wagon, and flew right on outa ‘ere?” When met with unanimous looks of disbelief, he raises his hands. “I mean, o’ course we go back an’ pick up tha stick b’fore we go but, why bother with all tha Rites stuff when ya got a flyin’ wagon, you ‘ear what I’m sayin’?”

He then waves for everyone to follow him back into the wagon, where he sits down next to the controls and looks at them expectantly. The Reader is the first to raise her voice.

“And… which direction would you go to escape the Downside, Avrec?”

“Easy!” He responds and points at the ceiling. “Up, o’course!”

She frowns at the simplistic answer. “Up, is where the stars are. You don’t believe that the Commonwealth is actually among the stars, do you?”

His confidence falters a little, but Avrec quickly comes up with another idea. “Well then, what about jus’ followin’ tha river back up tha way we came down?”

The Reader sighs. “That’s probably the first thing anyone tried once they built a wagon like this. In fact, seeing how Manley knew about this feature, don’t you think that he tried that himself?”

This makes him think for a moment, and she watches his head tilt back and forth, while he repeatedly scratches his hair.

“Ya know. Thinkin’ harder about it, that might’a been what broke tha thing to begin with. Some o’ tha parts were waterlogged an all, been switchin’ ‘em out o’er tha last couple weeks.”

At this point, Tidemont pipes up, in his usual loud tone.

“This lord is quite impressed with master Avrec’s proficiencies! Indeed, for one of his stature to not only be a capable fighter, but also a skilled engineer was beyond this lord’s wildest imaginations.”

“Capable fighter?” The Reader raises an eyebrow at Avrec.

“Ah, yeh. The two of us been sparrin’ or whatever ya call it. He thinks it’s good trainin’ apparently.”

“Sparring?” She remains skeptical. “I somewhat doubt that we are going to end up in a war in the Downside, Sir Tidemont.”

“You can never be sure, miss Reader!” The wyrm responds. “And besides the practical applications of such exercises, they are also rather good physical conditioning for the Rites!”

“He even thinks I’d make a good knight on tha Bloodborder!” Avrec chimes in. “Can ya imagine that, ahah!”

“Sir Tidemont likely thinks even I would make a good knight…” The Reader answers.

“A knight, no! But miss Reader would make an excellent commander no doubt. Indeed, this lord would follow any order of hers without question!”

“Can you please refrain from saying things like that?” The Reader groans. “I am really not in a leadership position here outside of the Rites, and if you keep exclaiming it like that, Manley may think that I am making a move against his position again.”

“B-but, this lord simply wished to express his most sincere appreciation of miss Reader’s skills...”

“Yeh.” Avrec makes his way back into the conversation, nudging the wyrm’s head. “But she’s worried her tree-boyfriend’s gonna get mad if ye keep callin’ her yer boss, ahah!”

“My- I- WHAT?!”

At this point, the Reader suddenly turns on the spot and by reflex starts walking towards the exit of the wagon. She makes it far enough as to put her hand on the doorknob, before remembering that there are currently however many feet of empty space beneath her, prompting her to return to the group and crash heavily into a seat with a loud groan.

“Don’t tell me that you genuinely believe we are in such a relationship, Avrec.”

Here, Xaxiana finally speaks up while awkwardly glancing to one side.

“Well… the way you two treat each other changed a lot after that night. He’s giving you a lot more attention, and keeps bringing you gifts. It’s just pretty obvious he has a favorite now, you know?”

“That’s not really…” The Reader furrows her brow, but Avrec interrupts her before she can continue.

“Aye! Somethin’ definitely happened that night didn’t it? C’mon, ye can tell us.” He nudges the Reader’s ribs repeatedly.

“Avrec…” She mutters. “You’re hurting me, and not just with your elbow.”

Here, Sir Tidemont seems to try to help the situation a little.

“This is all highly inappropriate, this lord hopes you realize as much! If miss Reader wishes to keep her love life a secret, then it is her right to do so!”

“Aaah! Enough!” The Reader throws up her hands in surrender. “If you all want to know what happened that night, then fine, I’ll tell you.”

They all fall silent and lean in a bit closer to her, save for Tidemont who retains his respectful distance.

“Ahem…” She clears her throat. “What happened was… nothing. Nothing at all.” She crosses her arms. “I’m sorry to… disappoint you all, but we are simply on speaking terms with each other again, which I highly appreciate. Frankly, I do not understand why you all are so excited about the idea of Manley and I being a couple in the first place.”

“I’m not excited by it!” Xaxiana immediately retorts.

Avrec, meanwhile, rubs his chin. “Ah. That’s a good question lass. We’re all jus’ curious I s’pose, since ya seem like such a loner an’ all.”

“You don’t know if she’s a loner, Avrec.” Xaxiana cuts in. “For all we know, she could have someone back in the Commonwealth. I mean, with her looks and smarts, she must have had some suitors.”

The Reader groans, visibly annoyed. “No, there was no one there either.” Her tone turns a bit sharper. “Now, if you are done nagging me about my non-existent romances, can we _please_ move on from this subject?”

The two gossipers sheepishly look away, each displaying some degree of regret.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you…”

“Yeh… sorry lass.”

“This lord would like to apologize for his companions’ shameful conduct! Truly they should know better than to pry and speculate in such a manner!” Tidemont exclaims, giving both of them the most judgmental look that one eye can manage.

The Reader simply waves a hand, trying to communicate that it is fine, and that they don’t need to apologize.

After a few awkward moments, Avrec turns and heads back to the wagon’s controls, joined by Tidemont, while Xaxiana heads out the back door to admire the view again. This leaves the Reader and Peyford alone, seated around the main table.

“Do try not to be too angry with them, Reader.” The nomad begins. “Ultimately, they are just worried about you.”

“I know…” She sighs.

“Besides, you have to admit that the way Manley and you behave around each other took a sharp turn after that night you spent in the woods. Indeed, you almost looked to have gone from an arguing old married couple to happy newlyweds.”

He smirks, but the Reader just bristles at his joke.

“Oh for the love of the Scribes, Peyford… Not you as well… Do you also think that I’m a loner in desperate need of company?”

At this, Peyford leans back, and actually takes a moment to consider.

“In my opinion, if anyone would really benefit from some company, I would say that it’s Manley, rather than you.”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise, not having expected for her question to actually prompt a genuine answer.

“Well.” Peyford elaborates. “You are familiar with how much he enjoys hearing his own voice by now. Yet, despite how much he talks, he never quite opens up to any of us. Everything he says is always quite superficial, and the constant barrage of words keeps people at arms length. In that sense, he is a rather lonely person, and he doesn’t seem to be interested in making any further attempt at getting to know us better, even though the rest of us share a rather good sense of companionship.”

He nods at the Reader.

“Just look at how you talk to us, and compare it with the one-sided conversations about himself that he has with pretty much anyone around... I may not be particularly fond of the sap, but I’m actually glad to see him seemingly getting along with you.” He sighs. “Imagine, Reader. Almost twenty years in the Downside, behaving like that and having no one to confide in. Must make one feel quite hopeless, don’t you think?”

The Reader nods and rests her chin in her hand. Everything that Peyford has put forth in the last minute more or less matches up with the realizations that she had a few moons ago about Manley.

“Peyford… for not being ‘fond of the sap’, you have an odd talent for always making a case for why I should sympathize with him. Why is that?”

He smiles. “I suppose that I’ve always been interested in figuring the reasons behind the way people act, even for those that are commonly perceived as morally questionable. Sometimes you would be surprised to see that things are not what they seem like.” He glances at the Reader. “But seeing how many opportunities you have given Manley so far I have the feeling that we’re pretty similar in that aspect.”

“Maybe we are.” The Reader chuckles. “You know, from the very beginning I sensed that you were the most reasonable one in the group, and that we may have a lot in common.” She clears her throat. “Oh, but please don’t pass that along to Manley. He seems to have some sort of complex when it comes to you.”

The nomad sighs. “That’s not news to me though… Since the first time we met, he had it in his head that I possessed a better position in the Commonwealth than he did, which lead to a rather one-sided rivalry from his end.”

“Ay folks!...” Avrec suddenly calls out from the wagon’s controls.

“I’ll tell you more about it some other day, Reader.” He nods and looks towards Avrec.

“I’m not entir’ly sure how ta land this thing.” The beggar continues. “So… ya might want ta hold on ta somethin’. Ahaha!”

The Reader takes a panicked look around the room she is in, and realizes that there is essentially nothing that is firmly enough attached to provide proper support. Even the central table is pretty easy to move around given a little bit of effort.

Her train of thought is urgently cut off as the wagon suddenly starts dropping at a frightening speed. She helplessly tumbles over, flailing for anything to steady herself as Peyford is flung from his seat. The next moment, Sir Tidemont comes rolling out of the driver’s room, clearly doing his best to not scream in terror. While tumbling about, the Reader manages a brief glance out the back door, where Xaxiana somehow appears to be completely unfazed by the whole affair.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the wagon comes to a sudden halt again, blowing a huge cloud of dust into the air, and sending the two nomads and the wyrm rolling in the opposite direction. They all come to a halt against the front wall just before the wagon very gently touches down on the ground and becomes completely silent.

“There ya go! Smooth landin’, or whatever ya call it!” Avrec exclaims cheerfully.

After taking a moment to make sure that she is still in the realm of the living, the Reader and Peyford shakily help each other onto their feet and confirm that Tidemont is unharmed before looking around. Xaxiana appears a bit ruffled from standing outside, but otherwise unharmed and completely unmoved from her spot. A closer look finally reveals that she appears to have dug her talons into the wooden floor of the balcony for balance.

Finally feeling steady enough to walk, the Reader then heads to the door and stumbles outside. There, she finds Manley, standing in the same position and location as when they left, with the only difference being that he is now entirely covered in dust, his hair in particular drooping from the added weight.

“You appear to be rather disheveled.” The Reader comments with a chuckle.

The sap blows a puff of air to get the dust out of his eyes before reaching forward and touching one of the ringlets in the Reader’s hair which had gotten quite tangled up during her tumbling around.

“May I say that you are not doing much better on that front, Reader.”

She frowns and raises a finger.

“Well, you probably noticed that I jus-”

“Oi! Reader!” Her response is interrupted by Avrec calling out to her from the wagon.

When she turns to see what he wants, she notices Peyford grabbing the beggar by the arm and muttering something in his ear.

“What? Oh- ya mean-?” Avrec then turns back to the Reader and waves while Peyford pulls him away. “Nevermind, lass! ‘Ave fun the two of ya!”

“What… was that about?”

Manley squints at the two of them while the Reader covers her eyes with a hand, dismissively waving with the other one.

“Nothing… It’s nothing you need to worry about, please don’t pay them any mind…”

The sap shrugs and turns away from the wagon as he starts trying to clean the remaining dust off his suit. The Reader joins him and idly tries to sort out her hair while watching the sky, which is stained a brilliant orange by the distant sunset below the treeline.

“Well…” She idly comments. “It appears that you will not need to buy another reader after all…”

He glances at her with a frown.

“Reader, that was not my intended meaning with what I said.”

“Then what did you mean by calling my potential death a ‘setback’?”

The sap falls silent as he stares off into the sky, clearly reminiscing about something. Finally, he sighs and speaks up.

“This precise day, twenty years ago, was the day I got exiled from the Commonwealth...”

While she feels as if he is avoiding the question, the Reader does not want to interrupt whatever he wants to get at with such a personal matter.

“That day, I lost everything I had ever owned... My status, my reputation, my connection to my family…” He then turns to look back at her, a melancholic expression covering his face. “I simply did not want to lose yet another thing on the same day.”

The Reader stares back at him with a blank expression, completely unsure of how to interpret that in the light of today’s discussions. It very likely means that he values her, but it still gives her absolutely no insight into whether it is as a person, or still just as an asset. While she tries to puzzle it out, Manley turns his eyes back to the slowly darkening sky.

“I am unsure if I have ever told anyone this before, but I sometimes have… doubts whether anyone still recalls me up there, or if they would genuinely want me to even return.” He sighs heavily, but then suddenly seems to brighten up. “Oh! But if a young nomad such as yourself has heard of me, then it surely means that my reputation is a lot more enduring than I thought, hmm?”

The Reader just barely manages to suppress her uncomfortable expression. At this point she can hardly just come out and say that his reputation endures as the failure of a rich family who squandered one of the easiest paths through life one could imagine.

“Yyyyes... of course it is. And I am certain that there must be people waiting for your return. I mean, you clearly have a devoted family, and someone of your stature must have had many friends, and perhaps even quite a few love-interests?”

She suddenly catches herself and turns away from Manley. Her mouth had just been running on without thinking, bringing her onto the subject of romance even though she did not intend to do so. She entirely blames Avrec and Xaxiana for filling her mind with all of that relationship nonsense. However, when she turns back to him, it appears that her comment has only saddened him again, and she can not help but wonder if it is because he was reminded of things he lost, or if he never had such things in the first place.

There is another long silence, and the Reader notes how rare that is when holding a conversation with Manley.

“Still,” she speaks up to fill the quiet, lifting her head towards the darkening sky, “I have noticed that the sunsets here in the Downside are not that different from the ones in the Commonwealth. Sure, there’s small changes, mostly thanks to the odd circumstances on the ground, but in the end, we see the same sky here as we did up there.”

This seems to snap Manley out of it, and he speaks up in his usual haughty tone.

“Oh please, dear Reader. This is nothing compared to what I could see from the mansion I grew up in. Such a wonderful piece of architecture it was, in a lovely location on a hill, just separated enough from the city to avoid the smells and sounds of the commons. Oh, just the gardens on their own were a wonderful display of art. Seeing the sunset from the small opening of this glade completely pales in comparison to watching it from the western wing of my old home. If you could have seen it, I am convinced you would agree.”

“Ah…” The Reader tilts her head. “I do recall visiting some places like that in my youth, when I accompanied my father as he advised important people in the Commonwealth. I can’t remember too much of it, given my age at the time, but we did see a lot of sunsets when arriving, due to the nature of his job.” She pauses. “Of course, then he retired and we stopped visiting such places. I suppose that it got in the way of his desire to educate and take care of me.”

She falls silent again, lost in the strange sense of feeling slightly nostalgic about the Commonwealth. It is a bit curious how she can still feel affection for the location, despite having no real desire to return to it. She is so caught up in her thoughts while staring at the sky that she does not even notice that Manley has shuffled a bit closer to her.

“Reader...”

As he clears his throat, and looks down at her, she suddenly gasps and grabs hold of his arm.

“R-reader?! Well- I- Ahem! While I am not particularly objecting to this display of… ehm, familiarity, I believe it may be-”

“Look!” She cries out, completely unaware of his stammering. “The stars! They’re back! I can see where the next Rite is going to be!” She takes another moment to stare up at the starlit sky before nodding. “Spring of Jomuer, right. There’s no time to waste.”

And as she keeps confirming the location to herself, she quickly walks back to the cabin, leaving a very confused Manley behind.

“But I- Reader! Where are you going?”

“I have to tell everyone of course! There’s so much to prepare for and we have a long way to go, not a moment to spare.”

And with that, she excitedly hurries back into the Chastity headquarters, eager to get the triumvirate ready for the next cycle of the Rites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. As you might have noticed, this chapter took a bit longer than usual to come out. The next chapters will be the same, as we are in the middle of moving to another country. Rest assured that even if the pace slows down, we will continue writing the fic and strive for the same quality as always.
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for reading, and we appreciate any feedback and comments that you write. It's what keeps us going, even 70 000 words later.
> 
> Also, have a [comic](https://pyrereader.tumblr.com/post/176813287612/i-thought-this-would-have-looked-very-out-of) made out of a deleted scene from this chapter.


	23. Time Passes

It is with a dull puff of smoke that the Chastity’s pyre once more fades into nothingness. A heavy sigh escapes the Reader’s lips as she looks to the stars, expecting the Voice to say something, anything at all. But just like every other Rite since this cycle started, there is no commentary, no superior sounding quip meant to make her feel bad about her guidance, just… silence. She would never have expected to miss that snarky voice in her head, but for some reason, she does. Maybe that feeling comes from her theory that the Voice’s absence might be due to the triumvirate’s abysmal performance during this cycle. Indeed, every single Rite so far has been nothing short of a disaster, and the latest one had been no exception.

The Reader lowers her gaze from the skies when Dalbert Oldheart, the leader of the Fate, approaches her. They exchange polite bows but say nothing to each other before the bent old cur leaves in the direction he had arrived from. She then turns to face her triumvirate, who are all headed back towards the Chastity’s wagon. Manley is in the lead, as usual, closely followed by the others. For a moment, the sap looks like he is about to say something to her, but instead he just sighs and walks past.

Her spirits fall even further. The Reader would never have thought that she would regret her excitement at the beginning of the new cycle. Now, so many Rites later, she misses those laid-back days that they had spent in the Wakingwood, and the time that she had spent getting to know her triumvirate through tutoring and conversations. As much as she hates to admit it, even the long one-sided conversations with Manley are something that she wishes she could go back to. Nowadays, they only managed short chats, and even those chats were usually about practical things, such as where they were headed, or how they were going to manage their provisions for the next period of time.

Their relationship is certainly still a lot better than it had been before the break, but it has unquestionably taken a few steps back. Just like how their progress in the Rites seems to be going backwards as well. The first thing to go had been his frequent gifts. Two failures into the cycle, it must have become clear to the sap that her promise to liberate him had been an empty one, and consequently he cut off his ‘compensation’ in exchange. At least, that is the story that she has constructed in her head.

The Reader finally comes back to reality as she realizes that there is something wrapped around her shoulders. She looks up to see that Xaxiana has placed a wing around her in a protective manner, while giving Manley one of her classic sour glares. She then looks down at the Reader, giving her a soft, reassuring smile, before nodding towards the wagon and heading off as well.

The next person to join her is Peyford, who walks up while she is scrutinizing the skies to figure out where they will have to go next. He stops beside her, and turns his eyes skyward as well.

“So where are we headed, Reader?”

“The Glade of Lu.” She answers dully, having some troubles mustering much excitement for the Rites at the moment.

“Hmm.” Peyford puts his hand to his chin. “Seems like we are returning home for the last Rite of the cycle once more.”

The Reader lets out a small gasp as the realization sinks in. “I can not believe that we are already at the end of a cycle again! It feels like it was just yesterday that we were preparing the wagon to go to the Spring of Jomuer.”

Time really had rushed past them, hurrying through the Downside week after week, chasing the stars only to conduct so poorly and accumulate so many losses. She sighs before continuing.

“So… if my memory serves correctly, the remaining triumvirate we have to face is… ugh...” It is impossible for her to suppress a groan. “The Dissidents. Just what we need to round off this cycle, Barker and his pack having a grand laugh at our loss.”

“You cannot know already that we will lose, Reader.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh really, Peyford?! Where have you been the last few Rites?” She throws a hand in the air, making her frustration clear. “We have been doing even worse than when I first joined! I thought that I had this figured out, but no! Regardless of how much I study the book, or how much I strategize, the outcome is always the same! No change, and no improvement!”

She buries her face in her hands, dismayed.

“I should not have been so overconfident, or made any promises. At this point… I’m just a… a failure of a reader.”

“You are being too harsh towards yourself once again, Reader.” Peyford leans down, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking directly into her eyes. “We are a triumvirate, and everything we do, we do as one. None of this is solely your burden to bear.”

Then his face turns even more serious than usual, as he lowers his voice just a bit.

“If you are looking to place blame for the current situation, perhaps you should place it on the one person who neither shows interest in your mentoring, nor makes any effort to coordinate with the rest of us during the Rites…”

They both know exactly whom he is talking about, but clearly neither wants to state it out loud.

“Peyford…” The Reader simply gives him a sad look. “I don’t think blame is what we should be…”

He shakes his head in return. “Yes, you are right, I should not be saying that. I need some rest, and you certainly need some rest as well.” There is a heavy sigh from the nomad as he straightens up. “I’m heading inside. Take care not to stay out too long.”

She waves at him and turns back to the skies, trying to collect her thoughts. Regarding what Peyford said, it is not only Manley that is being problematic, the entire triumvirate seems to have changed. When even the usually optimistic nomad starts saying negative things such as just now, it may be time to realize that something seriously bad is happening. They are going to have to take the time between cycles to address this apparent loss of hope, perhaps their imminent return to the Chastity’s headquarters is a blessing in disguise.

With some amount of order restored to her mind, she makes her way back into the wagon as well, going straight to the sleeping quarters and joining her triumvirate in their attempts to sleep off this defeat.

The next day they set off from the Ridge of Gol, and the Reader watches as the landmark slowly disappears behind them. The repair of the wagon’s flight capabilities could not have come at a better time, as the stars suddenly seem rather willing to send them travelling across the entire Downside from one Rite to the next, with only the usual week of time between them. Whenever the stars have been kind, the extra speed has even allowed them to spend some additional time gathering supplies or training.

This trip, like most others before it, is fortunately uneventful. Flying above the dangers of the Downside makes for rather pleasant trips in contrast to travelling on the ground. Especially now that Avrec has had some time to figure out the proper way to control the wagon’s flight, making the landings a lot less terrifying than in the past. The only real drawback that she has noticed so far is the serious susceptibility to winds that comes along with being so high up, a fact which Manley has always been eager to point out.

Still, aside from the couple times that heavy storms had forced them to camp out on the ground for a few days, the flying wagon has been a great convenience, once everyone got used to the frequent swaying and occasional turbulence.

Thankfully, during this trip the clear skies are giving the Reader plenty of time to review her own texts. Once it had dawned on her that they would be having very little success with the Rites, she had decided to make the best of a bad situation and began taking notes on the landmarks and the behaviors of their opposition. She is still not sure how to make use of any of these writings, but once the triumvirate achieves some better cohesion, then having more information to work with will likely be an advantage.

By now she has managed to fill several scrolls with the various strategies that the opposing triumvirates are using, along with some drawings of the landmarks, and potential ways to exploit the features of each Rite-field. They are… not comprehensive by any extent, but it is a start. Refining these strategies is the next thing to add to her growing list of things to accomplish during the upcoming break.

After a few days of travel, the wagon sets down in one of the few flight-friendly locations of the Wakingwood, and a day later, they have arrived back at the Glade of Lu. There, everyone automatically gets to work with their usual tasks of foraging, maintaining the wagon, feeding the imps, and so on. The Reader excuses herself from the chores and brings one of her scrolls to a suitable vantage point where she can begin her sketch of the landmark.

This task does turn out to be more difficult than she had expected however, not only because of her general lack of artistic skills, but also because of the nature of the landmark’s primary feature. The encroaching thorns that she had seen the last time they conducted in this spot are something which the Reader does not completely understand. The book may state that they are some sort of remnant from the root titan Arizech, but this tidbit alone does not help her predict how they will act. With just a single Rite for her to reference, she can not even tell if they appear in a set pattern, or if they will throw some new surprise at her every time they come by here.

She sighs, staring at the flat circle that she has drawn and feeling a sense of uselessness setting in again. Figuring that there is not much more she can do outside of the Rite, she rolls up the scroll and tries to recall whatever useful things she may know about Barker and the Dissidents, simultaneously rummaging in her pouch for something else to take notes on. Upon finally grabbing a fresh scroll, she turns to check on her triumvirate while twirling her quill, courtesy of Xaxiana, between her fingers.

Everything appears to be moving along as usual. The wagon is getting maintained by Peyford and Avrec, Tidemont and Xaxiana are foraging just at the edge of the glade, and Manley… appears to have disappeared without a trace. When the Reader had finally asked him about his tendency to suddenly vanish at random points, he had casually revealed that he only did that when his informants had new information for him, or when his family has sent him a letter that he needs someone to read. His tone while answering the question had made it sound as if that was an obvious conclusion that the Reader could have reached herself. Anyways, his disappearance might mean that he will soon be back with some form of good news… though part of her wishes that he would not show up until it is too late for him to join in the Rite.

Feeling rather incapable of mustering any useful information about the Dissidents beyond ‘they laugh a lot’, the Reader finds herself using the rest of her time making a doodle of their ridiculous looking leader.

An artist, she is surely not, but it made the time pass at least. When she once more raises her eyes, Manley can be spotted approaching the campsite, carrying a large package under his arm, and wearing an almost equally large smile on his face. The triumvirate all turn to look at him as he clears his throat.

“My dear colleagues, I have returned. Why, I hope you did not miss me overly much in my absence, as you will soon see that it was very well worth my time. Indeed, I bring with me both good news, and a present!”

He holds up the package that he had been carrying under his arm, and for just a moment the Reader is wondering if she is somehow back in his good graces again. That hope is quickly dashed, as the sap instead offers the sturdily wrapped object towards Avrec, catching the beggar completely off guard, and making the Reader immediately suspicious of his intentions.

“Wha-! Fer me?!” The beggar hops to his feet, snatching the parcel from Manley before tearing into it like an excited kid, likely spurred on by expectations of booze and other luxuries. His exuberance suddenly ends when the packaging falls away, and he looks over at the rest of the triumvirate with an expression of abject horror on his face.

“Ay…”

He gestures at the contents, an upscale two-piece suit similar to the cut worn by Peyford. Apparently, this garment has the power to frighten Avrec of all people, and the Reader takes a moment to remind herself that this is the same person who neither batted an eye at entering the Pit of Milithe, nor seemed particularly worried when facing the Essence. Yet here he is, appearing completely frozen by the prospect of wearing fancy clothing.

“As you can see-” Manley speaks up, demonstrating an inability to read the mood, “I thought it was well past, oh well past time for you to dress in accordance with the rest of the triumvirate.” His hand whips up to forestall any sort of reply. “Yes, yes, I am perfectly aware that everyone wears the raiments during the Rites. Yet, at this point, I simply can not allow one of the members of my triumvirate to continue wearing such rags from day to day, it is frankly a disgrace.”

Having picked up a good speed by now, there is no stopping Manley’s monologue, as he gestures at Avrec’s head.

“In fact, something will have to be done about your hair as well. While there is no way we could make it to Hollowroot in time, I am certain that you can be made presentable with a razor and some scissors.”

Seeing an opportunity, the Reader shuffles up next to Avrec and mutters in his ear.

“Next thing you know, your hair will look like mine.” She can not suppress a chuckle. “This is how it started.”

The beggar quickly drops his package on the ground and starts backing away from the group, hands up in the air.

“Eeeeh…” He lets out a nervous chuckle as Peyford and Xaxiana keep up with his retreat. “Ya guys don’t really think that I need ta...“

“Manley…” With the rest of the triumvirate focused on Avrec, the Reader finally raises the relevant question.

“Why the sudden concern with Avrec’s appearance?” She doubts that his tolerance of the beggar’s dress-code simply had an arbitrary expiration date.

Manley perks up, always eager to explain the inner workings of his mind.

“Why, you see dear Reader, there have been some rumors fluttering around, and through a magnificent stroke of luck, my courier just definitively confirmed those rumours while delivering this package. It turns out our next Rite is going to be rather more important than we could have anticipated, and I feel that we should put in an effort to make a good impression.”

The Reader pauses, unsure of what to make of that. He should be just as aware as she is that their next adversaries are the Dissidents, and she somehow doubts that Avrec’s style choices would have a lot of influence on how they behave in the Rite. This means that the rumors that he is talking about must concern who their next adversaries are, and unless they are having a repeat encounter with a group that they already faced this cycle, a new triumvirate must have surfaced. She suddenly gasps and covers her mouth, realizing the implications of this.

Clearly, Manley notices her reaction. “Yes indeed, my dear Reader, unless my sources are wrong, which they never are...” He turns to address the group as a whole.

“It seems that the Nightwings have returned.” He leaves a pause, basking in the stunned reaction of his colleagues. “And they are currently headed towards the Glade of Lu, to face us in the upcoming Rite.”

After he stops speaking, the triumvirate remains silent for several moments. Even Avrec ceases his complaining, mostly so that he can start slowly attempting to shuffle out of sight while everyone is distracted. A clap of Manley’s hands snaps everyone to attention again before he resumes his speech.

“Now. Peyford, Xaxiana, may I request your assistance in making sure our entire triumvirate is presentable for the occasion?”

His eyes fall on the escaping Avrec, who freezes up like a rabbit caught in a trap.

“It would be my pleasure.” Peyford nods.

The next moment, the nomad and the harp have caught the beggar by the arms and are dragging him inside the wagon, despite his loud protests. Sir Tidemont trails behind the three of them with a concerned expression on his face, leaving the Reader and Manley alone outside.

Not that she had paid much attention to the fashion-induced drama that just played out in the background, as the announcement of the Nightwings’ return had sent her into an immediate panic. If strategizing for an encounter with the Dissidents had been bad, she now has to prepare for a completely unknown quantity. And as if it would not be hard enough to do that, she also has the added pressure of facing the triumvirate with infinite favor from the Scribes, the Nightwings themselves. A victory against them would be the perfect way to break their current losing streak, while another loss would undoubtedly cement their position as absolutely hopeless.

A hand is placed on her shoulder, causing her head to snap around.

“What now?!” She barks.

When faced with Manley’s frowning countenance, she quickly regrets her tone, lowering her eyes.

“Oh, my apologies. I’m simply a bit… on edge, I suppose…” She lets out a heavy sigh and crosses her arms. “Actually, this entire situation is very unexpected. I wish I could have had more time to prepare, but I don’t think that I can come up with a new plan like this, on the day of the Rite.”

Manley’s expression softens into one of his usual smiles, though not one of the really genuine ones.

“This is completely understandable, dear Reader, completely understandable. Indeed, in light of our recent…” His eyes shift as he considers his wording. “... difficulties in the Rites, perhaps it is time for you to let me step in and handle the strategies for this encounter. It has been a good effort, but simply efforts are not getting us anywhere, Reader.”

She bites her lip and looks away. His words sting, yet are not entirely unexpected. After all, she had figured that the sap would eventually complain as their streak of losses got longer and longer. Ultimately, she must admit that if Manley has faced the Nightwings before, his input would be valuable, at least in so far as it might help her expect what she will be up against this night. There is another sigh, and she gestures for him to continue.

“Please… I need any kind of help you can offer now.”

The sap immediately brightens further, as he is given an opportunity to show off his knowledge related to the Rites, and at least for a moment give off the appearance of competence.

“Why certainly, dear Reader. Allow me to fill you in on the many things that I have observed during my previous bouts with them.” He almost gives a theatrical bow before launching into a monologue.

“You are, of course, already familiar with what the Nightwings represent in the Rites, as well as their ever favored status and… their privilege of participating in each cycle’s liberation Rite.” A brief frown drifts over his face. “But you must be wondering about their Rite conductors, and let me inform you, Reader, that with the skills they displayed, they hardly needed that grand favor of the Scribes. One nomad in particular was well known as the best conductor the Rites have ever seen and, frankly, with the way I am being held back recently, why, we would have stood no chance against him.”

The Reader furrows her brow, about to retort when she realizes something.

“You speak as if he isn’t there anymore.” She notes.

“Yes, indeed.” He nods.” My sources have indicated that the Nightwings we will be facing this eve will be a completely different group from the one that I have previously encountered.”

She places a hand on her chin, pondering this. “I can’t help but wonder what could have made them disband completely and hand such a great position over to an unrelated group of exiles...”

At this, Manley glances around, as if he is expecting someone to be listening in on them.

“Well, there are… rumors.” He leans closer and lowers his voice for effect. “No one is entirely certain of what really happened but it is said that there were… well, deaths, during one of the liberation Rites. For some reason, after having prevailed over the Accusers, two members of the Nightwings took each other’s lives. This, understandably, left the remaining ones dreadfully traumatized and incapable of picking up the pieces from there, so to say.”

“Wait! Hold up for a moment please!” The Reader throws her arms up. “Deaths?! I thought it was supposed to be impossible to harm each other during the Rites.”

“I told you these are rumors, Reader! Do not hold me accountable for their reliability.” Manley scoffs, displeased by the interruption. “Anyways, with all Nightwings gone, the only ones that know for certain what happened are Lendel and his Accusers. Whom, frankly, I would not trust to tell the truth more than I trust an imp to engage in reasoned debate.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Either way, most exiles agree that one Nightwing tried to kill another or that there was some form of dispute which lead to both of their accidental demises. No matter the details, it left the Downside without liberation Rites for several years. Quite the undesirable state of affairs, if I do say so myself.”

This is all a sizeable amount of information for the Reader to process, so once Manley stops talking, she does not speak up for quite some time. What strikes her as most surprising is the revelation that there could have been in-fighting among the Nightwings. So much for the exalted triumvirate of the Scribes, it seems like they might have been as petty and small-minded as any other group. Still, this tells her absolutely nothing useful about how these new Nightwings may act during the upcoming Rite.

“Well… I know a lot more now and little of it is useful.” She rubs her temples. “So what is your strategy for dealing with them tonight?”

The sap puffs up, clearly having waited for this moment.

“Why, I would think it is obvious, dear Reader. We ask them to stand aside, and let us prevail.”

The Reader is unable to keep her palm from colliding with her forehead. Here she had expected him to have some genuine strategic input, and this is what she gets.

“Seriously? We’ve been over this...You can not genuinely believe that that is suddenly going to start working, can you?”

“Well, why not?” Manley gives an indignant frown. “This is an entirely new group of Nightwings, which are most likely unfamiliar with the procedures of the Rites. Couple this with the fact that they have every possible chance at a liberation available to them, I believe it should be rather easy to convince them to give up a single one to the Chastity, to me. Of course, with an added incentive of compensation once they are freed in the future.”

“Please, Manley.” The Reader groans. “We need a proper plan for prevailing. Betting everything on the idea that they may surrender is- is...!”

She stops herself before throwing out a personal attack. Arguing with Manley has never gotten her anywhere in the past, and is unlikely to work much better now.

“All that I am saying,” she continues in a more measured voice, “is that we should have a back up plan… If they’re truly new to the Rites, then we have experience on our side, along with the fact that we are conducting on our own landmark, I think that-”

“Oh please do inform me of what you are thinking!” Manley interrupts her, his words dripping with barely polite sarcasm. “Do you perhaps believe that we should simply keep letting you lead us to failure as we have done up until now?”

The Reader takes a few steps back, shocked by the sudden bluntness of the accusation, even though some part of her is incapable of refuting what he said.

Her feelings must have been written across her face, as Manley’s expression and voice quickly softens, dropping any hints of haughtiness or sarcasm as he reaches out towards her.

“Reader…” He lets out a long sigh. “If I am to be utterly frank with you, I don’t know what other options there are... We have followed your guidance, for two whole cycles now, and the results honestly speak for themselves. At this point I am willing to give anything to have a chance at returning to the Commonwealth, to my family...”

She lowers her eyes and her face saddens. The feeling of missing one’s family is something she can relate to, and even though his strategy is questionable on many levels, she can not help but think that it is her own inability to make them succeed in the Rites what has made him go back to such methods.

“Yes, I understand...” She replies in a dull tone.

Manley stares at her for several moments, indecision written across his face. It is one of the few times that the sap is at a loss for words, and the Reader can not tell if he is feeling some sort of regret or if he is going to continue on with his plan. Nevertheless, as the moments keep adding up, she gets the feeling that the conversation is not going to continue anytime soon.

With nothing else to say, she bows her head slightly and turns back to the wagon to prepare for the Rite. Regardless of what Manley is planning to do before or during the Rite, she is going to continue putting in her best possible effort. If he is going to make his best impression through appearances and words, she will make the triumvirate look as good a possible on the field of the Rite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 100 followers on our tumblr, as well as 900 hits on the fic (and to make up for the fact that we have been gone for a couple months), we're doing an art giveaway! 
> 
> For more details, click [here](https://pyrereader.tumblr.com/post/179049147767/art-giveaway). (Even though the post says it's only for followers, we can make an exception if you don't have a tumblr account, just comment here instead and we can work it out.)


	24. Certain Plan

A few hours later, the darkening sky sees the Chastity leaving their blackwagon once more, as they resolutely head towards the Glade of Lu, and their alleged encounter with the Nightwings. As usual, the Reader and Manley are silently leading the way, while the rest of the triumvirate trails behind them. At the very end of the line is a noticeably stiff Avrec, who seems to be having trouble walking properly, likely on account of the suit that he has been worked into. Somehow, during her conversation with Manley, the rest of the triumvirate managed to get the beggar dressed, his face shaved, and his hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Peyford seems particularly pleased with his work, and the Reader must admit that it is a fair improvement compared to his usual looks.

“How can ya fellas even breathe in these ‘ere things!?”

Of course, his vocal and frequent complaints do a fair bit to completely shatter the illusion, as does his constant tugging at the suit-collar poking out of his raiments. About halfway through their walk to the glade, Manley stops, turns, and addresses the triumvirate.

“Ahem. Now, as I hope you all realize, it is imperative that we give the Nightwings the best imaginable first impression of us, so that negotiations can go as smoothly as possible. This means, I believe, that it would be in our best interest if those among us who are… less rhetorically inclined… would simply keep quiet.”

At this point he directs a very brief, but very pointed look at Avrec. There is no doubt in the Reader’s mind that the beggar noticed it, as his expression changes from exaggerated discomfort, to something resembling active distaste. She is not sure if she has ever seen him make a face like that before.

“In fact,” Manley continues, “it would be better if you all simply remain in silence and allow me to handle all necessary conversation, hmm?”

He pauses briefly, but before anyone can really voice any objections he turns back to the path that they had been following and resumes leading the triumvirate towards the glade. Not feeling too inclined to keep up with him, the Reader slows down to fall in next to the surly Avrec.

“Well…” She speaks up, hoping to lighten the mood. “If it’s any consolation, I think that you look rather… charming, in that outfit.”

There is a moment of incredulous staring, but then Avrec’s face finally breaks out into his usual optimistic grin.

“Bahah! Ya think so lass? Sure ya didn’t mean to say ‘barmy’?”

The Reader has no idea how to interpret that particular piece of slang, but she gives him a big smile of her own, relieved at how easy it was to break him out of his mood.

“Of course! If we were in the Commonwealth, I might have mistaken you for an aristocrat.”

The beggar’s roaring laughter confirms to her that it had been the right thing to say.

“Ahahah! Tha’s a good one lass.” He then extends his hand towards the Reader and straightens his back in an overwrought half-mockery of a typical nobleman’s posture.

“Oh dear Readeh. Would ye do me th’ great honor of acompc- apco- errr... followin’ me to tha Rite this evenin’?”

The Reader is doing her best not to laugh at the display as she performs a proper curtsy and digs up her old Commonwealth mannerisms to play along.

“Why of course, sir Avrec. It would be my pleasure to accompany such a distinguished gentleman as yourself.”

They pause and look at each other for a moment, before both of them burst into laughter. It surprises her how relieving it is to have a moment of levity like this, and she can not help but realize how long it had been since she last had a proper laugh such as this. Unfortunately, it seems like good things can not last, as their mirth is broken by Manley approaching them and loudly clearing his throat.

“Ahem! How long is this nonsense going to continue, pray tell?” He shoots an annoyed glare in the beggar’s direction. “Once you are done entertaining yourself, Avrec, you may head back to the wagon.”

“Wait wha’?!” Avrec blurts out. “After goin’ through all ‘a that, an’ I don’t even get to watch tha Rite?”

“Precisely so. I have realized that we can not allow any distractions to be present during tonight's very important proceedings. And as I have already decided that it will be Peyford and Xaxiana who accompany me on the field, we will neither be requiring the presence of yourself, nor that of Sir Tidemont.” The sap gestures dismissively towards the direction they came from. “Now be on your way, if you would.”

The Reader can see Avrec’s face change from confusion, to annoyance, and to a brief moment of unquestionable anger. He opens his mouth, seemingly about to argue with Manley, but then appears to change his mind.

“Peh!” He jerks his head away from the sap and stomps back towards the wagon, already getting to work on removing his uncomfortable garment.

Throughout the entire exchange, Sir Tidemont appears to have been idly glancing back and forth between the two involved parties. Though the Reader must admit that it is hard to tell what he is looking at as his head is already obscured by the mask of the raiments. She turns towards him while looking at Avrec with a worried expression.

“Could you… please go with him and make sure that he is fine?”

The wyrm gives her a small nod of assent and slithers off towards the wagon.

The rest of the trip to the glade is spent in silence. Once they arrive, Manley strides up to the middle of the field, while the remaining triumvirate and the Reader stays behind.

“I don’t understand what is wrong with him now...” She grumbles under her breath as she steps up next to Peyford. When he gives her a raised eyebrow in reply she groans. “I mean, aside from all his usual faults... He has never just sent someone back halfway to the Rite like that.”

“And I might be the next one dismissed if you keep talking to me, Reader.” Peyford muses while polishing a mark off his mask.

“Oh please, Peyford.” The comment appears to be in jest, but the nomad’s face is as inscrutable to her as always. “That makes it sound as if he sent Avrec away out of jealousy.”

Peyford glances at her. She knows that look, it is the one he gives her whenever she has just made his argument for him. The Reader continues on.

“Look, I hardly think that he regards me in such a possessive manner. At most, I would say, he tolerates me.” Anticipating the response, she raises a hand. “Yes, yes. I am aware of all the gifts and attention I received from him a few moons back, and how that likely looked from an outside perspective. But you are observant enough to have noticed that all of that dried up the moment we started losing Rites again.”

She places a hand on her chin and lowers her voice. “Hmm...I feel as if… that was more of an exchange of goods that he was giving to me in return for the promise I made him back in the Wakingwood...”

Her monologue ends up turning into just her own personal musings halfway through, a fact which Peyford seems to pick up on as he smoothly eliminates the last hint of the stain he had been working on from his mask.

“I recall you saying that nothing of note happened back then.” He comments casually.

“And that’s true! But…” The Reader awkwardly rubs her arm, suddenly feeling a need to defend herself.

“I… did make him a promise to put every effort I could into ensuring that he is liberated...” She can see the hints of a frown forming on Peyford’s face, and quickly continues before he can say anything back.

“Can you really blame me for doing so!? After all, it is like you said…” She looks over at Manley. “Down here, he has nothing and no one. It… reminds me far too much about how I lived in the Commonwealth, before my exile. The way he is now, separated from his family, is how I felt once I had lost the last important person in my life… so, in that aspect, I suppose that I can empathize with him...”

She stops and casts her eyes downwards.

“However, unlike me, he can go back to those people, and be reunited. Even if maybe he is not the best person to have on the loose in the Commonwealth, I want to give him that at least, to achieve what I can’t anymore...”

The Reader retreats back into her own thoughts as a feeling of loneliness invades her. Even here in the Downside, where she has gained some amount of kinship with her triumvirate, her ultimate goal is to send these people away, back to the Commonwealth where she has no real way of following them.

If she does her job correctly, the time that she has spent getting to know Manley, and the bond that she is building with him, is going to go up in smoke, followed by the rest of her companions. It honestly looks as if she has come from a life of loneliness, into this brief period of knowing friendship, only to head towards becoming lonely again.

“You do realize that he is not the only one with a family back in the Commonwealth, right?”

She is soon snapped out of her thoughts by Peyford’s voice. The comment leaves her dumbly staring for a moment, her eyes wide with surprise. In fact, what he said caught her completely off guard, and the point it makes is twofold. On one hand, it highlights a glaring hole in the Reader’s knowledge about the person that she might have called her most trusted ally on the triumvirate, assuming that Peyford is indeed talking about himself. And on the other hand, it shows that if family is her criterion for choosing who to liberate, that is a rather broad net to cast, and for choosing Manley over anyone else she would need something more to motivate her choice.

“Peyford, I…” She begins, but falters.

“I think you have grown softer.” Peyford continues on. “Or rather, I believe that you have developed a soft spot for him.” He indicates Manley with a jerk of his head. The nomad’s tone is stern, leaving no room for doubt. This is not a joke at the expense of the Reader’s relationship with Manley, this is a genuine critique of her judgement.

“That’s not true, Peyford... This time I have been spending with him, it is all because I feel that he requires the instruction. His level is so far behind the rest of you that it seems like a reasonable trade-off…” For some reason she does not feel entirely comfortable with her defense, or even with the fact that she has to defend her decision at all.

“And has it been worth your time, Reader?” His tone is sharp, bordering on angry. “Has he learned anything at all? Has he even shown any remote interest in the Rites beyond what he did before the start of this cycle?”

The Reader can tell that it is taking him some effort not to visibly gesture at the sap standing across the way. She opens her mouth and closes it a few times, unsure of what to say. What counterpoint is there really to give? Manley’s improvement has been marginal at best, if he has improved at all.

She must have been making a pained face, as Peyford’s expression soon softens.

“I’m worried, Reader. It looks from my side as if he is exploiting your kind nature to get what he wants, without having to take any action himself. Still, he does not seem to realize that his reluctance to cooperate is doing nothing but hurting his chances at liberation.” He lets out a heavy sigh and reaches over, gently placing a hand on the Reader’s shoulder.

“I miss the Reader that we picked up at the Sandfolds. The one that would stop at nothing to make us succeed, even if it angered parts of the triumvirate…” He glances at Xaxiana, whose pointed ears appear to have been standing at attention, listening in. “... We all miss that Reader.”

She turns to the harp, not having realized how close she had gotten since the conversation started.

“Xaxiana! Have you been eavesdropping?”

“S-sorry Reader.” The harp flushes slightly at being caught, before shuffling into a more comfortable conversation distance. “You didn’t really ask for privacy… But anyway! Peyford is right, you know?!” She quickly moves past her little faux pas by picking up where Peyford left off.

“I also think Manley is just trying to use you, and… Damn it! You made me feel proud of being part of this triumvirate, and doing these stupid Rites! And I hate that it’s all getting thrown away because that idiot refuses to listen to you!” She here throws out a wing to indicate Manley, abandoning any of the restraint that Peyford has been showing.

The Reader lowers her eyes for a moment. If she ever needed confirmation that the string of losses is getting to people, here she has it staring right at her. And at the center of all the focused discontent is Manley, the perceived source of all their failures. She can honestly see where they are coming from, as the time that she has spent with Manley has been far less productive than she might have hoped. She had expected that the two of them getting to know each other and sharing details about their lives would make him feel more comfortable in the triumvirate and eventually lead him to show more interest in the Rites. In hindsight, it appears to have served as little more than a distraction from her duties to the rest of the group. If anything, she might have changed more than he has, if her companions feel the need to call her out like this.

Despite all of this, she still can not quite bring herself to turn completely against him, to unify the triumvirate against him. She takes a deep breath and pulls herself out of the depths of her thoughts as it appears that her companions have been waiting patiently for her to give a response.

“I believe...” She begins. “That every member of the triumvirate is equally as important and deserves to be a part of these Rites, including Manley.” She looks between the two of them, and is met by passive looks of skepticism.

“You have been a significant part of my life. Both of you, as well as him, were there when I almost died in the Sandfolds, and the four of us have been inseparable since then. This is to say that I by no means take what you say lightly but-”

Manley’s voice suddenly interrupts her speech. “Ahem! Reader! Could I request your presence for a moment?”

She tenses up and looks over her shoulder at him, then returns her attention to Peyford and Xaxiana.

“I… I can’t take sides in this… Please don’t force me to do so…” She lowers her head and starts fidgeting with the rim of her cloak. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I seem to be required elsewhere...”

“You’re going with him?! After all we just said?!” Xaxiana gestures wildly with her wings before flailing them at Peyford. “Do something! Say something smart!”

But the nomad simply puts his mask on as the Reader starts walking away from them, prompting a frustrated shriek from the harp. Looking back at them like that, seeing Xaxiana’s frustrated body language and Peyford’s stiff posture, the Reader wishes that she could see his expression through that mask. The last thing she wants is to think that they are right, that she has been getting manipulated this entire time. Although the Reader must admit that she might not have noticed if that was genuinely the case.

Still, there is not much time to consider this, as she suddenly finds that she has reached her destination.

“Ah, excellent, there you are.” The sap makes a show of suddenly noticing her, as if he had not been watching her entire approach. “You see, I had this thought that, seeing as we have some extra time, and the Nightwings have not made their appearance yet… Well, I feel that this would be an excellent opportunity to show ourselves as gracious hosts by guiding them to our landmark, don’t you agree? I have an inkling of where they may be and it is not far from here.”

“And why would you require me to be present? You already made it clear that you want to be the only one doing any talking.”

“Well yes, of course. But with you by my side, Reader, there will be no way for the Nightwings to doubt my affluence and status, at which point the negotiations should progress far more smoothly than otherwise.”

The Reader clenches her fists, suddenly feeling as if they have moved back to the week the two of them met. Without a response, she promptly turns to leave as fast as she arrived. Manley’s hand on her shoulder stops her.

“Where are you going, Reader? Did I not just say that I need you to come with me to greet the Nightwings?”

She frowns back at him, responding sternly. “I am not accompanying you as a trophy for you to brag about. You... “ Her eyes sink and her voice lowers. “... You are perfectly aware of how that makes me feel, and I thought we had come to an understanding about that.”

It appears to take a few moments for Manley to realize how the way he stated things could be interpreted, and another few for him to come up with a way to salvage the situation.

“Oh but that was not at all my intention, not at all, dear Reader.”

The immediate backpedaling is all too familiar, and she can not keep her eyes from rolling as the sap continues.

“Why, I simply figured that you would appreciate the opportunity to meet the Nightwings before the Rite, seeing how you appeared to be rather interested in learning more about them.”

While his words are most certainly disingenuous, the actual proposition is true. Regardless of what Manley’s own motivations are, the chance to get some firsthand experience with the Nightwings is too valuable for her to pass up just because she feels offended.

“Fine, I’ll come with you...” She finally agrees with a sigh.

The two of them head off in silence, leaving the open area and making their way back into the dense forest on the opposite side of the glade. It barely takes a minute before Manley once more clears his throat and speaks up.

“After all, dear Reader, I am certain you know how much I value your input in matters like these. Speaking completely frankly, I believe you have a good sense for discerning the true nature of people around you.” He pauses, glancing down at her as she walks next to him.

“Indeed, to simply call you an ‘asset’ to the triumvirate would be frankly insulting. No, you are far more than that. You are my most trusted colleague. To me, you are…”

“You already convinced me to come along, Manley.” She cuts him off, hoping that her annoyed tone gets the message across. “There’s no need for you to keep flattering me.”

“But I simply wanted you to know…”

The sap tries to continue, but the Reader pulls her hood up and picks up her pace, doing her best not to listen as she heads toward an upcoming clearing in the woods. Peyford and Xaxiana’s words still ring clearly in her head, and seeing how Manley behaves when they are alone only makes their point more clear. For some reason, he seems intent on flattering her, manipulating her to get on her good side. It is possible that he still feels as if his position on the triumvirate is threatened and that she would be a valuable ally, especially if he too has felt the lowering mood of the triumvirate over the last few weeks.

That train of thought is immediately relegated to the back of her head, as the Reader spots a group of exiles standing around in front of a red wagon, at a relatively short distance from the two of them. With no doubt in her mind as to who they must be, she steps in behind a tree to conceal her presence while getting a good look of them.

“Reader, is there a problem? You appear tense, and while I grant that the triumvirate which we are facing are quite enough justification for such behavior, I would like to say-”

The sap’s continuing monologue is quiet enough that the Reader can ignore it without worrying about the exiles before them overhearing him. Besides, she has more important things to think about than whatever Manley’s current problem is.

The group by the wagon consists of four people, rather than the customary three of other triumvirates. Three of them: a nomad, a cur, and what looks like a demon, are wearing traditional raiments and masks, colored in a combination of red and blue which she has never seen before. Of most interest however, is the fourth person, a second nomad wearing a ragged gray cloak and clutching a book of Rites in one arm.

“... is it because of what I said earlier?” Manley continues behind her. “Because I can assure you, Reader, the least of my intentions were to cause you any discomfort. In fact, as I said, I hold you in quite high esteem and…”

His words however, fall on completely deaf ears as the pieces assemble themselves in the Reader’s head. The way the nomad is clutching the book, that same gray cloak that the Commonwealth had draped her in when she had been exiled. Her mind is completely made up when the figure turns around to address their triumvirate, showing their back to her, along with the forked star branded on the gray fabric which marks them as a reader. For a few moments she is completely frozen, overtaken by mixed feelings. On one hand, she is happy to see another reader, the first one that she has ever seen that is not her father. On the other hand, this means that the Nightwings, just like them, have someone who strategizes and controls the field from a superior vantage point. This completely nullifies her usual advantage of exploiting her opponents’ lack of vision or communication, and with the current state of the triumvirate, she is not sure how to make up for this setback.

“...And it is for that reason that I would appreciate your honest opinion on the matter. Surely, you would tell me if there was any problem, hmm?”

The Reader stares back at Manley in abject confusion. She has not heard a word of what he has said for the last couple minutes, and she is starting to wonder how self-absorbed he must be to not notice the Nightwings standing practically right in front of them.

“Manley…” Hopefully a simply point in the right direction will help him realize.

“Oh… I see.” He catches the hint and looks at the group, adjusting his suit collar with a grumble. “I suppose this conversation will have to wait, then…”

“There’s something you should know, though. The one that is not wearing the raiments, I think they’re-”

“Yes, yes. I can tell they are most likely the leader of the Nightwings.” He casually interrupts while putting on his mask.

“That’s not what I- well, they might be, but what I meant to say was-”

“Reader,” he interrupts again, “I am already quite well versed in these kinds of interactions, I am sure you know. While I appreciate your concern, I don’t think it is entirely necessary at this moment.”

She opens her mouth to persist, but decides not to when it becomes clear that he is not even listening any more, standing adamantly next to a tree, forcing her to simply join him with a frustrated groan.

A little while later, the Nightwings seem prepared to head towards the glade, as their reader turns right towards their hiding place. Manley seems to take this as a sign to step out from behind the tree, almost creating the impression of the forest itself moving as he regards the opposing triumvirate with an exaggerated bow. The Reader herself takes up a position behind him, doing her best to not draw any attention as the sap speaks.

“Well, goodness, by the roots of Lu Sclorian! It would appear the rumors are correct! The Nightwings have returned!!”

She can feel a chill down her spine as she recognizes the tone. Nowadays, he rarely puts on that overblown, overacted, and completely fake manner of speech when the two of them are holding a conversation, so the contrast to how she is used to hearing him talk is startling. In fact, it reminds her of the formal, bordering on slimy manner of speech that he used when he first addressed her back in the Sandfolds.

“Oh, but where are my manners, hmm? One moment!” She can see him struggling with the clasp on his mask for a moment. Although from her perspective it seems that he is playing up how much trouble he is having, stalling for a more dramatic reveal.

“Much better!” Once his mask is off, the Reader can see the gray figure in the Nightwings tilt their head back and forth, seemingly trying to make sense of what they are seeing. She has to wonder if it is the first time they are seeing a sap, or if Manley’s face truly is just that unexpected. Either way, she is a bit amused by it, prompting a chuckle. The sap, however, seems completely unfazed by the lack of reaction.

“H. Manley Tinderstauf, at your service! Perhaps you've heard of me?”

The introduction seems to do little to alleviate the confusion among the Nightwings. Their reader just keeps dumbly staring, while the folks wearing raiments look amongst each other and exchange shrugs. It is clear that his name evokes less than no knowledge of who he might be, and she is starting to wonder if she had just been exceptionally ‘lucky’ to have actually heard about him before being sent into exile. Still, the obvious lack of response seems to get to him, as she can see his hand briefly clenching behind his back before he continues with his monologue.

“My reader and myself, you perhaps know us as the Chastity.” He gestures with his hand at the Reader and she steps up next to him, bowing her head and smiling to the Nightwings’ reader. “We soon shall stand against you in the Rites!! For now I am just whiling away the time, making small talk!”

Her introduction seems to snap the reader of the Nightwings out of their confused staring, and they remove their hood to stare at her, giving the Reader an opportunity to note as many details as she can about them.

Now looking at her is a man who appears to be fairly well past his prime, at least as far as she can tell from his posture and the unshaven lower half of his face that she can see. The upper half of said face is obscured by a crudely carved wooden mask, seemingly a homemade attempt to mimic the traditional masks of the triumvirates. From behind said mask peer two sharp looking eyes, hinting at a mind that is in far better shape than the body it is inhabiting. Finally, and it takes her a few moments to realize, the arm that he used to brush back his hood does not look quite right. She can not stop herself from staring at it for a few moments, before realizing that the arm below the elbow is a prosthetic. Still, now she can clear away any doubt that this person is a reader. The way that he is looking at her seems to speak directly to her, saying that he possesses the same skills as she does.

Driven by a sudden urge to talk to him, the Reader takes a step forward, ignoring Manley’s warning to not engage with the Nightwings. The sap clearly takes notice, and promptly cuts in front of her with an annoyed expression covering his face, forcing her to step back again.

“Ahem!” He then clears his throat, addressing the opposing triumvirate again. “Now, then, as I have introduced myself, your turns!! To whom am I speaking?”

The Nightwings reader seems to consider the question and removes the mask from his face, clearly about to answer. Then, suddenly, his expression changes completely, a mix of distrust and worry creeping over his countenance. For a moment, he genuinely does not seem to know what to do. The Reader takes notice of the odd reaction and frowns, wondering what might have happened for such a sudden change to take place.

“Well…?” Manley asks again as the Nightwings’ silence starts dragging on for far longer than is either reasonable or polite, and she can tell that his patience is starting to run out.

He gets no response from their reader, but the demon suddenly steps in front of him and stares back at Manley in silence from beneath their mask. This is only the second demon that the Reader has ever encountered, but their size, build, and presence are all just as imposing as those of Ignarius from the Tempers. This one, however, seems to lack the humorous nature of the former, simply continuing to stare Manley down in a clear attempt to intimidate him.

At this point the Reader can not help but remember the stories that she has been told about the Nightwings, especially the part about causing deaths among their members. She awkwardly coughs, trying to signal that perhaps it would be better to drop this introduction effort and just wait for them at the Rite field. However, her signaling seems to go completely unnoticed by the sap as he drops his polite tone and retorts, clearly not intimidated by the demon’s behavior at all.

“Why, now, how very rude, indeed. Well, fine! Ignore me, but you do so at your peril!” The Reader stares at him, her eyes wide and jaw slack. By now she is wondering what he could possibly be thinking to talk in such a manner to someone that could break him in half, and probably would have no moral qualms about doing so.

“Anyhow”. He tries, and mostly succeeds in regaining his composure. “Once this evening's Rite commences, any moment now, then I'm afraid ignoring me won't be an option any longer.”

Manley then lifts his head towards the sky and the Reader does the same, spotting the unmistakable pattern of the Scribe stars aligning and signaling that the Rite will start soon.

“Oh! And now I do believe the sky is beginning to show. We'll have to chat again some other time! Now come along, come along!”

He then bows and gestures for the Reader to follow him, as they both head off towards the glade of Lu.

As they turn away, she takes a moment to analyze what just transpired. The Nightwings appear to be more lacking in manners than any other triumvirate they have faced before, not even deigning to talk to them after they had gone out of their way to greet them. At this point she has to wonder how such a disrespectful triumvirate could possibly be the favored one of the Scribes. Granted, it is likely that Manley’s approach did little to cause a good first impression, seeing how he went for the blatant flattery and overly polite tone. While such behavior may be the norm among the upper classes of the Commonwealth, here in the Downside his interactions with other triumvirates have proven time and again that such behavior only makes him look dishonest and manipulative in the eyes of plainer folk. Still, this means that his strategy to ask the Nightwings to stand aside has little to no chance of working at all.

“Well, that was… that was the Nightwings, I suppose…” She speaks up. “So much for the favored triumvirate of the Scribes, don’t you think?”

Manley says nothing in reply, so the Reader steps in front of him in order to force him to stop walking and look at her.

“You asked to know my opinion on the Nightwings. That is why you wanted to bring me with you, didn’t you?”

She takes a moment to relate the thoughts that she just had to the sap, getting little reaction from him other than a mildly annoyed stare.

“I... can not really tell you much more on account of their… lack of communication.” She finishes, hesitantly. “The bottom line however, is that they are not going to listen to you, Manley. I could not even tell if they heard your name properly.”

Then Manley raises his finger, as he leans in towards her for emphasis.

“Ohhh, they WILL listen to me, dear Reader. THAT I can absolutely assure you.”

And without further elaboration, he strides past her, rapidly moving towards the glade. The Reader frowns and follows him, her head full of questions about what he could possibly be planning to do now.


	25. Grand Ceremony

“Peyford! Xaxiana!”

The fragile quiet of the glade is suddenly shattered by Manley making his re-entrance, wasting no time in catching the attention of the two members that the Reader and him had left behind. While their faces are still hidden by their masks, the Reader can feel their questioning glances at the returning duo. All she can give them in return is a non-committal shrug, as she knows no better than them at this point.

“Now!” Manley starts as the four of them reconvene on their end of the field. “I do believe it is time for me to share the strategy that I have been busy devising for this occasion.” His back straightens with pride.

“Ahem! To begin with, the moment the orb lands I will step forward and project my sapling at the center of the field.” He starts gesturing, as he is wont to do, waving emphatically his arms to make his intentions as clear as possible. “With such an interesting event having taken place, I will then engage the Nightwings in conversation, and keep the attention of their conductors on me.”

“While I talk, one of you,” he points at Xaxiana and Peyford, “it does not really matter who, will sneak up to the orb and take it to their pyre before they realize what we are doing. I assure you, I will be enrapturing enough that you will have a good possibility of prevailing in this Rite before they even realize it has begun.” If his confident tone of voice was not enough, the sap’s wide smile makes it quite clear how pleased he is with his strategy, regardless of how many glaring holes there may be in it.

“Is that not rather… underhanded?” The Reader voices her doubts, wondering whether they have really fallen so far that they are not even going to attempt to prevail by their own merits any more.

Manley turns to her with a finger raised. “Every good strategy is seen as underhanded to the people whom it defeats, dear Reader.”

“How can you consider this a strategy?!” She exclaims. “You are betting our entire victory on the assumption that they are too incompetent to keep their eyes on the orb!”

“Well, if I recall correctly, exactly such a strategy worked on you when we faced the Tempers, did it not?”

At this, the Reader sputters, unable to contain the anger and embarrassment that rise within her as she remembers how she had been distracted in that Rite.

“Tha- I-” She tries to start, feeling her face turn bright red. “Actually, no! I do not care, and I do not wish to be involved with your ‘strategies’ any more!” Then, without allowing a response, she turns and walks straight away from Manley, intending to go looking for a vantage point for the Rite. She does not make it far before his hand once more finds its way onto her shoulder.

“Reader, dear. I honestly can not see why you continue to have such issues with my ideas.”

Her annoyed glare seems to do little to deter the sap from continuing.

“You have seen the workings of the higher classes of the Commonwealth, correct? Considering that, I am honestly surprised that this is so appalling to you, dear Reader. I did not think you were so naïve as to believe that you can get ahead without stretching a few rules to your advantage, surely you have to agree with me on that point?”

“On the contrary, I could not be in less disagreement with you.” The Reader huffs and turns away. “And would you kindly stop calling me ‘dear’? I am not your ‘dear’ in any way.”

<Yet if you wished to be, it would please me so.>

She whips back around, staring incredulously at the sap. She had heard his voice but...

“Wha- What did you just say?”

“Mhm?” Manley raises an eyebrow. “Why, I have not said anything, Reader.”

“But you-”

“Still.” He interrupts her. “If you wish to keep our relationship at a more formal level, then so be it. I will retreat to a more professional distance once more.”

“That’s not what I was trying to…” She begins, but stops herself, letting loose a long sigh.

“I don’t have time to discuss this now…” And with a tired rub of her forehead, the Reader heads off to find a position to supervise the Rite.

On the way, her mind swims with unbidden thoughts. What Manley had said… it had not sounded quite real, yet it had clearly not been one of her own thoughts. For the second time since coming to the Downside, she finds herself pondering if the environment is getting to her. If she were to, for argument’s sake, discount the voice that spoke to her during the Rites, she only ever heard these things while Manley and her were alone somewhere in the Wakingwood… though whether this means that some creature or the woods themselves are playing tricks on her mind, or if she is just going insane, she could not say. Pushing the thoughts aside, she finally reaches a good observation spot and takes a seat.

As the stars align overhead, the Reader gives the landmark another proper look. The fluttering pink petals falling from the massive tree make for a beautiful vista, and she finds herself wishing that she was in a better mindset to enjoy the view. Now, the beauty is a bit tarnished by her worries about the Rite that is about to take place. With a final sigh, she lowers her head to watch as the two triumvirates line up at their respective sides of the field.

As they wait for the orb to fall, Manley once more steps forward to exchange greetings. The Reader does not expect much to come from it but she can hardly stop him from wasting his own breath.

“I wonder, O honored Nightwings, how well you know these woods.”

The Reader can not help but remember how she has seen the sap get along in the deep canopy. He really is not one to talk about knowing the forest well in her mind.

“Why,” he continues, “these woods would strangle you, and I'm afraid I could do little to stop them even if I tried! You might do better to beware of them.”

He gains the same quiet looming stare from the demon as they had given him back in the forest, and for some reason, this seems to be the tipping point for the sap, as he finally breaks his polite facade and lashes out at them.

“Why you, insolent...!! Then, fine, let us begin the dance, indeed!”

The Reader is still slightly amazed by the sap’s extreme lack of regard for his own well-being, mouthing off at a demon in such a brazen manner. The question is whether he is brave or foolish…

“And, allow me to thank you in advance for helping me return unto my proper station in the Commonwealth.” He concludes as he shoves his mask back on with a huff and walks towards Peyford and Xaxiana.

“Definitely foolish...” The Reader mutters as she buries her face in her palm.

The Nightwings gather up at their end of the field as they seem to discuss their strategy for the Rite. Eventually, their reader splits off from the group and takes up a position opposite of the Reader on the other end of the field.

“Are you quite ready, finally, O Nightwings?” Manley asks as the gathering light signals the orb’s imminent fall. “May all those masks of yours ensure no harm should come to any of your lovely countenances. Now come along, come along!! Let's give the stars a show!”

As he finishes his speech, the orb comes crashing down in its usual spot, and the sap wastes no time projecting his sapling right next to it, before raising his voice once more, addressing the still passively observing Nightwings.

“May I present to you... Humboldt-Manley, Jr!!”

The first sentence out of his mouth makes the Reader bury her face even harder into her palms. That is the enrapturing conversation that he intends to distract the Nightwings with? Surely his plan can not be to spend the entire Rite talking about that one thing? Frankly, she had not even been aware that it had a name before now, or perhaps the name is simply another fabrication on his end.

Regardless, she directs her thoughts to Peyford and Xaxiana, urging them to remain on the defensive and hold their positions until she has the Nightwings figured out. She is not going to allow their reputation to be even further sullied, particularly not by participating in Manley’s absurd and dubious plan.

“...Why, he is every bit my equal,” he keeps going on “and is poised to guarantee the Tinderstauf line shall have a bright, bright future!”

The Reader genuinely has to wonder about the true nature of the sapling. Is it really Manley’s offspring as he seems to be implying, or is it just an extension of himself? For now, she will just have to put it down to saps being rather odd.

At that moment, a pair of faint voices drift up to her vantage point from the Nightwings end of the field, barely audible over the sap’s continuing monologue.

“I have had more than enough of him.” Goes a deep voice, presumably originating from the demon.

“Uh yeah, my thoughts exactly. C'mon, let's get him.” Comes an answer from the cur, who already seems to be impatiently bobbing on the spot.

So she is not the only one who is tired of Manley’s long-windedness, and it appears that the Nightwings are indeed capable of talking, if only to insult their competition. It shows what flattery gets you, she supposes.

Fortunately, it appears as if Manley has not heard them, and she has an easy time picturing the expression he is making underneath that mask, completely enraptured by his own voice.

“... now, isn't he just the most precious thing you've ever seen, hmm?!”

After his speech winds down, he takes a look around the field and realizes that no one has moved during his entire ‘distraction’. The brief turn of his head towards the Reader’s location suggests whom the sap suspects for this inaction, before finally taking a step back so that the Rite can commence in its natural course.

As has become her habit, the Reader is not expecting to have much impact on the Rite, so she is caught completely off guard when the Nightwings’ demon steps forward, pauses for a moment, and then casts their aura directly at Manley’s sapling. The rebound blast banishes them instantaneously, and causes both readers to jerk to attention, though likely for completely opposite reasons.

They must never have faced a sap before…

The Reader’s mind starts turning at incredible speeds, as she tries to work this information into a functional plan. If they are unfamiliar with the capabilities of a sap, then they would not know about his odd method of movement, nor how his sapling works, or even about his personal shield. If they can ambush the Nightwings with each of these traits before they are ready for them, they might be able to douse their pyre enough to impact their morale.

Unfortunately… this plan relies on the person who is the least likely to listen to her right now… She sighs and directs her thoughts towards the triumvirate.

<Manley, everyone. The Nightwings do not seem aware of how to counter the abilities of a sap.If you follow my instructions carefully, we should be able to exploit this weakness until their reader catches on and adapts. That means we do not have much time, but if we can douse their pyre enough in that frame, we might be able to demoralize them enough to prevail.>

Unfortunately, Manley seems to have other plans as he wanders up towards the orb, which is still protected by his sapling. The Nightwings, meanwhile, seem to simply be spreading out a bit, waiting for their demon to come back before making any moves.

<How absurd. Such an unfinished strategy has little to no chance of succeeding. Seeing how incompetent they are, I should be able to just stroll this here orb into their pyre while they’re surprised… hmm.> The sap does not seem to be going a very good job of thinking and performing, as he absent-mindedly wanders in front of his sapling and grasps the orb. <Besides, were she not against exploiting inattention and the like? So, is it acceptable when she does it but not when I do? Pah!>

Now, hearing his thoughts during the Rite is nowhere near as strange as when they are outside of them. Still, has she not made it clear already that they can communicate in this manner? Is he deliberately trying to insult her right now? Or perhaps he is genuinely incapable of seeing the difference between his strategy and hers. Either way, it appears that Peyford has had enough of the sap’s meandering as he suddenly takes the initiative and runs up next to Manley, seemingly ready to cover his advance. The next moment however, the Nightwings’ demon reappears, and they immediately let loose a powerful aura cast towards the two of them. Peyford, reacting to the sound of the blast before he can even see it, easily jumps out of the way, though his movement leaves Manley with no time to do anything but let out a surprised shout before being banished and dropping the orb near the Chastity’s pyre.

It is hard to tell whether Peyford was actively trying to put Manley in the line of fire, or if it was all a coincidence, but it clearly would not have been an issue if the sap had just stayed behind his sapling. The Reader groans and watches as the Rite continues playing out in front of her. With Manley momentarily out of the scene, there is much less need for her input as Peyford and Xaxiana have been steadily improving their teamwork throughout the cycle. At this point she only really has to act like a third set of eyes to help the two of them conduct to the utmost of their ability.

The next couple minutes are a hectic back and forth between the two triumvirates. The remaining competent members of the Chastity put forth a rather impressive defense, even accounting for the absence of their sap. The Reader’s heart skips a beat on a few occasions as Xaxiana uses the force of her dashes to push Peyford out of harm’s way, or into a better defensive position. That maneuver might be the one she is the most proud of, the result of many long hours of mentoring and practice, and a display of cooperation which truly demonstrates the spirit of the Rites in her mind.

During the extended exchange, she also notes that the Nightwings are taking a rather cautious approach, particularly in giving Manley a rather wide berth, while retreating whenever he gives the slightest hint that he is about to project his sapling. She wishes that it could be possible to capitalize on this in some way, and the sensation of having a plan that she can not execute due to the lack of cooperation on Manley’s part is more than a little infuriating. Her mood only gets worse as the Nightwings finally manage to banish both Peyford and Xaxiana, followed by their cur nimbly rushing around Manley and striking the first blow against the Chastity’s pyre.

“Oh-hoh, what's this?!”

Manley appears unshaken by the initial setback, as he tries once again to engage the Nightwings in conversation. As with last time, the dousing of a pyre seems to signal for the roots of the glade to encroach onto the field, a fact which the sap seems eager to point out.

“It seems the woods themselves are closing in upon our little soiree. Oh do be careful now. These grasping roots and vines, they may not hold you in such high esteem as I!”

“You certainly seem to hold a lot of people in high esteem…” The Reader grumbles to herself, annoyed at the reminder of how freely the sap hands out his flattery.

Speaking of flattery… those words that he had said before the Rite... had that really been Manley’s thoughts or had her mind been playing tricks on her? They had both been holding the books, which seems to be what allows her to communicate with the triumvirate during the Rites… But if it would really make him happy to call her ‘dear’, then that would mean that he thinks of her like a...

She shakes her head. If that was what he truly thought of her, then he could do well to listen to her once in a while, could he not?

As the Rite resumes, the Reader returns her focus on the field. Manley once more attempts to make a move towards the orb, without even wasting time on projecting his sapling this time. Putting himself in such a risky position has predictable results, as he is summarily banished by the Nightwings’ demon. Their fortunes quickly turn however, as the Reader points out an angle for Peyford to banish the demon in return, followed by Xaxiana grasping the orb and soaring toward the opposing pyre. There, the Nightwings’ nomad misjudges her trajectory, jumps, and finds themselves unceremoniously shoved out of the way as the harp dives into the bright blue flames.

There is little time to celebrate, however, as the Nightwings immediately go on a counter-offensive. With Xaxiana out of the picture, Manley once more tries to grab the orb by himself, rapidly blinking up into the center of the glade, where he seems to promptly run out of breath as he stops to take a look around. He gets his bearings just in time to see the blue aura of the Nightwings rushing out from their nomad to banish him in a puff of disappointment. What follows is a short skirmish with Peyford trying to keep their pyre safe, only for Manley to suddenly return and snatch the initiative away, getting the nearsighted nomad banished, which is soon followed by the Nightwing’s nomad simply running a circle around the sap and dousing their pyre once more.

“Oh dear, the woods are closing in, uncomfortably close at that!” Manley seems to find his voice, once more interrupting the flow of the Rite in an attempt to distract the Nightwings. “Whatever shall we do?! Perhaps if you just stand aside a while, we could put an end to this that much the sooner.”

His comments, as usual, go unnoticed while the Rite continues on around him. By now both triumvirates seem to have simply decided to keep conducting while he is talking, which seems to work out for a while as the stationary sap is far more useful as a wall than anything else. Of course, that state of affairs does not last for long, and Manley soon dives forward to make a grab at the orb, only to deliver it handily into the hands of the Nightwings once more. The Reader sighs as she watches him overexert himself, which leads to another banishment. Unfortunately, as the roots continue to close in on the glade, Peyford’s and Xaxiana’s maneuvering room starts getting cut down, while the Nightwings’ demon becomes more and more oppressive in the narrow paths created by the brambles. She considers telling Manley to attempt to fulfil the same role as the demon, but decides to not waste her metaphorical breath on him anymore.

A few quick maneuvers later from the Nightwings’ cur, and the Chastity’s pyre is once more doused, prompting another groan from the Reader and another tirade from Manley.

“Say, have any of you noticed how it’s feeling rather crowded out here, hm? Almost as if the Hundred-Minds himself resents you being here! Yes, I rather think that’s it!” He pauses briefly before raising his voice in an uncharacteristically direct exclamation. “So cease with all your scurrying about with that damned orb, and let me handle this!!”

The Reader honestly can not tell whether he is shouting at the Nightwings or at his own triumvirate by now. Still, while the brambles encroach further into the field, something surprising happens. As Manley makes a move towards the orb, the Nightwings’ nomad snatches it up right in front of him. But instead of taking the turn properly, they immediately slide straight into the sap’s aura, sending the orb flying into the air. Manley apparently spots an opportunity in this, or perhaps he is just startled by the nomad’s sudden appearance and disappearance, as he blinks up towards where he expects the orb to land.

What follows might have brought a smile to her face, had she not already been so exasperated with the entire affair. The sap somehow manages to get his raiments stuck in the thorns surrounding the shrinking field, and she could swear she hears him shout something in frustration. Realizing that the distraction is suddenly out of the way, Peyford and Xaxiana spring into action. The harp has several close calls with the auras of the opponents, ultimately getting herself banished as she aggressively swoops in next to the Nightwings’ pyre. However, her forward actions allow Peyford to move into a favorable position, where he rapidly, with the Reader’s guidance, banishes the two remaining Nightwings, and with a completely clear shot, flings the orb into the flame just in time for the nomad to return and for Manley to untangle his raiments from the brambles.

“All right, you Nightwings, I've had it up to here with you!!” The sap’s facade seems to be rapidly crumbling by now, his polite tone barely hanging on by a thread. “Or, perhaps I've simply had it up to here with all of these encroaching plants, these miserable things. Either way! I don't appreciate how you're ignoring me!!”

After this, the Rite continues with a surprisingly even back and forth, and the Reader finally gets time to take proper stock of the Nightwings’ movements.

Overall, they seem to have a rather stilted and uneven style of conducting, and if she had to guess, she would say that they were all working on direct orders from their reader at all times. This way of acting seems potentially full of weaknesses, though it grants them one big element of unpredictability, as one conductor may suddenly stop moving mid stride, while another one takes the initiative. Still, they come across as rather inexperienced, which says something about the state of the Chastity, as they are barely keeping up with this triumvirate of complete rookies. Ultimately, the Nightwings do once again gain the upper hand and strike yet another blow against the Chastity, leaving their pyre a flickering little excuse for a flame. The next couple minutes will decide the Rite, she is certain.

Immediately after the orb drops, Peyford makes his way forward, cutting off Manley’s attempt at grabbing it for himself. The nomad quickly runs into issues however, as the Nightwings’ demon intercepts his approach with a surprisingly quick aura blast, snuck carefully between the obstructing brambles. Manley promptly tries to take Peyford’s place as the triumvirate’s forerunner, only to blink right into another aura blast from the demon, likely owing to the sap’s incredibly predictable behavior.

Up next, Xaxiana swoops forward, shielding herself with her aura as she snatches up the orb and soars right over the demon in a beautiful display of technique. The Reader is just about to let out a cheer, when the harp is just barely intercepted by the Nightwings’ nomad, knocking her to the ground and sending the orb careening towards the center of the field once more. Xaxiana does not simply stop at the first setback though, as the absence of her teammates leaves her in her favored element where she can act purely on instinct with no regard for her fellow conductors. Recovering before the nomad that knocked her down, she tackles them in the blink of an eye, leaving the pyre clear while the demon dashes off to secure the orb.

What happens next surprises the Reader greatly, and she thinks she can hear a shocked cry from the other side of the field as well. As the demon advances, they throw the orb to the ground just in time to regain their aura and banish Peyford, but against all expectations, Manley then inches forward and, using his impressive presence, manages to nudge the demon with his own aura and banish them, which leaves the field completely empty and Xaxiana in a prime position next to the Nightwing’s pyre.

“Ahah! That will teach you to ignore me you rude lout!” The sap, however, appears to have other plans, as he starts berating the other team rather than seizing the orb and throwing it to Xaxiana.

<Manley.>

“Observe, Reader!” And to the Reader’s astonishment, he actually takes his eyes off the orb and turns to face her up on her elevated perch.

<Yes, wonderful. Now pass the orb to->

“These are the fruits of my strategic efforts! While we may have had a few close calls during this Rite, I now assure you that we will-”

“STOP BABBLING AND GRAB THE ORB!!”

Suddenly, her own shrill scream rings out across the field, startling the sap into silence, as well as visibly surprising everyone else present, including the Nightwings’ reader sitting across the other side of the field. It takes a moment for her to realize how loud she had just been, at which point the Reader slowly sits back down, watching in silence as the banished Nightwings return and their opportunity vanishes into thin air.

The next few moments pass with little of interest happening, as the Chastity retreat back to their pyre. Xaxiana notably hurries back to almost take cover behind Manley, definitely placing him in the line of fire. The Reader gives some half-hearted instructions and ideas for her triumvirate to consider, but after such a humiliating display, she is having a hard time mustering any coherent plans, despite their currently dire situation. Then, she momentarily perks up, as Manley, seemingly by accident, manages to once more banish the Nightwings’ demon and seize the orb.

“Please toss it to Peyford, please…” She mutters under her breath, fully aware that giving him actual instructions will have little effect.

Of course, her hopes are quickly dashed once again, then replaced by a faint hope, as the sap performs several quick blinks towards the Nightwings’ pyre, something which appears to catch their opponents completely off guard. She watches in surprised silence, as Manley makes his way from the center of the field, past the nomad charging at him, right up next to their blue and red flame. Once there… he stumbles, and somehow manages to get completely turned around with his back against his intended destination, causing the Reader’s jaw to slowly drop in disbelief. The sap is standing right in front of the opposing pyre, wasting precious seconds because he cannot properly keep track of his position after blinking more than two times.

Manley does not even manage to regain his sense of direction before the closest Nightwing finally catches up and banishes him, sending the orb towards the center of the field where their nomad quickly snatches it up. A quick feint and an impressive leap later, and the Chastity’s flame is finally extinguished, bringing them to a grand total of eight failures in a single cycle.

As the Reader directs a dark glare towards the Nightwings, she can hear their cheerful conversation drifting up to her on the wind drafting through the glade.

“We did it. One step closer, everyone.” The nomad begins, their voice filled with optimism, so opposite of the Reader’s current mindset.

“Yeah!! That's how we do it, people!” The cur responds, excitedly running circles around the other two participants, as if the Rite had barely worn them out at all.

“Good. That imbecile of a Sap. So much talk and hot air.” The demon then comments curtly, their voice loud enough to be clearly heard by everyone present. The Reader sighs and looks over at Manley, who already seems to be gearing up for his closing monologue.

“Well, my, my, my.”

Not a good start, the more a word is repeated, the more annoyed he generally is.

“Oh, worry not, O Nightwings, I'm not angry with you, honestly! But I am very, very, very, very disappointed.”

This must be the first time she has ever heard him say ‘very’ four times in a row like that. Not a good sign at all.

“I thought, perhaps, that we had something going here between us? You scratch my back, I scratch yours, and all?” He pauses, preparing everyone for his incoming change of attitude. “Instead, however, you decided to spit in my FACE. Fine! We'll have to see where all your rudeness gets you. Now, tah-tah.”

Anyone could tell that there is a lot of restrained anger underneath the barely polite tone of his voice, particularly as it seems to jump an octave or so every few words. The Reader herself can tell that they are going to have to deal with quite some unpleasantness, and she tries to brace herself as she gets off of her lookout and heads down to rejoin the group. As she does, the Nightwings rejoin with their own reader, and subsequently depart from the glade, seemingly in good spirits.

Approaching from behind their extinguished pyre, she comes across Peyford and Xaxiana first. Both of their masks are off, and she recognizes the expressions on their faces. Frustration, annoyance, perhaps still some disappointment. They have almost gotten too used to these failures to be surprised by them any longer.

Still, those feelings are warranted. During the Rite they had both put in impressive efforts, making their best out of any period where Manley had been banished and they had gotten closer than ever to snatching victory from their opponents, all ruined by the sap’s inability to cooperate, once again. Though she still has to say something about a few of their maneuvers which seemed to be aimed at putting him in the line of fire without achieving much else. While she understands the reasoning behind such acts, they hardly seem to be in the spirit of the Rites.

The Reader opens her mouth to speak but before she gets a word out, Manley walks up into the middle of the group.

“Well, well, well now. I suppose that this Rite will have provided all of you ample reason to reflect on how your behavior lead to our collective failure.”

She can feel Xaxiana seething behind her, but the sap appears oblivious as he continues on.

“Especially you, dea-... ahem, I mean, Reader.” He sends her a long stare. “I hope you realize how your refusal to comply with my strategy was the primary reason for our downfall.”

At this, Xaxiana appears to have had enough, as the harp tries to push her way towards Manley, but an extended arm from the Reader stops her short.

“Me?! Are you… truly blaming me for this outcome?” It takes extensive effort, but she somehow manages to keep her voice steady, despite the anger and resentment bubbling inside of her.

“Well I can hardly see who else is to blame for this disaster! You are the one who deliberately disobeyed me, and then persuaded the rest of my triumvirate to follow your orders, despite it being such a clearly misguided thing to do!”

The Reader opens her mouth, about to respond but the sap cuts her off by turning to address Peyford and Xaxiana.

“Moreover, I am shocked that you two would continue to defer to someone so lacking in experience. At the very very least, I used to hold a position of some importance in the Commonwealth, which is more than can be said for her! Although what else can I expect from associating with those who were not born of proper stature and have no idea what such positions are worth.” He casts the briefest of glances in Xaxiana’s specific direction, though no one else seems to notice it.

“Surely…” The Reader speaks up, ready to dig into his statements. “You do not mean to imply that a person’s birth determines their value and capabilities, do you?”

“Why, I would think that is obvious, is it not?” Manley retorts while spreading his arms in an exasperated gesture. “Or are you honestly going to try and argue that, say, the beggar can even compare to me?”

“Yes!” She answers, while noticing a brief clenching of Peyford’s fists. “That is exactly what I am saying, and let me spell it out for you! You are no more important than any one of us, Manley! We are all judged solely by the Rites, yet you constantly behave as if the world revolves around you and your pitiable performance!”

“Oh is that so, Reader?!” Manley takes a step towards her, while the other present members simultaneously take a step back from the engagement. “And your counter-proposal is that we should follow everything that _you_ say, hmm?” He scowls, clearly at the limit of his temper. “That we should take orders from someone who spent their entire life tucked away in a little hole, never accomplishing anything of note?! To someone that never had to endure any hardship in her life?! And you think that I should simply…” he waves his hand dismissively, “allow you to stroll in here and take advantage of everything I have built during my twenty years of exile?!”

“What have you even built?!” She bites back as her voice begins to rise into a shout. “NOTHING! That’s what! And what do you even know about hardships?! Back in the Commonwealth you got handed a job that no one could mess up, through no merit of your own! Yet got exiled anyways for still trying to get more than you even deserve!”

“AT LEAST I HAVE PEOPLE WAITING FOR MY RETURN!!” Manley’s voice rises to match the Reader’s, as the situation continues escalating outside of either of their control. “YOU, by contrast, got exiled for doing nothing, with no one noticing your absence, and no one trying to help you get back! That is how IRRELEVANT you are!” The last words come out like a sharp sting, with the Reader reeling slightly from the blunt insult.

“I WOULD RATHER BE IRRELEVANT THAN HAVE YOUR REPUTATION!!” She steps up to him, her voice rapidly rising in pitch as she clenches her fists and squeezes her eyes shut.

“NO ONE ACTUALLY MISSES YOU! NO ONE WANTS YOU TO RETURN! AND I BET YOUR FAMILY ONLY HELPS YOU SO THEY CAN REMOVE THE STAIN OF HAVING AN EXILED FAILURE OF A S-”

Her eyes open for a brief moment before she manages to finish her thought, and anything she was about to say suddenly tumbles away into nothingness. The sap’s face is scrunched up in an expression she has never seen him make before. Hurt, anger, sadness, regret. All different emotions are written plainly across his countenance, and just as she recovers from the shock, she thinks that she can see something akin to a tear rolling down his cheek.

“N-No… I…”

The Reader suddenly realizes that she may have gone too far, however true her words may have been, but as she reaches out to take them back, Manley turns around and hurries off into the woods, not even making an attempt to preserve his dignity by making a slow exit.

As the sap departs, the remaining triumvirate is left in a stunned silence for a brief moment.

“Wow! That’s an even stronger reaction than that time with Lendel.” Xaxiana suddenly chimes in, and the Reader is not sure when she even approached her.

“I’ve never seen anyone make him cry before... Good job, Reader!” The harp gives her a friendly punch to the shoulder, displaying an astounding inability to read the atmosphere as she goes on.

“Really though, he’s had that telling-off coming to him a looooong time. You don’t even know how good it feels to have that posh, pompous, arrogant, scheming piece of tinder get told what’s what. Put him in his place, I say!” She then turns to Peyford, gesturing excitedly with a wing.

“See, Peyford? I told you that she was still the same Reader we know. Everything is going to be fi-”

She cuts herself short as she notices the concerned look of the nomad, followed by her turning back to the Reader.

“Wait- Reader! Are you... crying?”

The harp raises a wing, attempting to wipe the sudden tears off of the Reader’s eyes. The gesture is not accepted, as she brushes the wing aside with a frustrated groan before stomping off the field into the woods as well, leaving her two companions behind.

“What did I say?! Peyford! Don’t just look serious, say something!” She can hear the harp calling out in confusion before all sound is blocked out by the woods.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hiraeth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567718) by [master-of-schadenfreude (master_of_schadenfreude)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/master_of_schadenfreude/pseuds/master-of-schadenfreude)




End file.
